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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594907">The Pious Lie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity'>The_Audacity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:35:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As classmates and bitter rivals in Catholic school, Ichigo and Uryuu could not possibly hate each other more. Still, there is something between them that keeps dragging them together no matter how they try to push apart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ishida Uryuu &amp; Kurosaki Ichigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There is a lot of plot here, but there is also a sex scene in almost every chapter. So, I guess this is considered ‘porn with plot’? I’ve always wanted to explore the inner conflict of someone being both gay and Christian but it can be quite the sensitive subject for some. If you are easily triggered by anything listed in the warnings, proceed with extreme caution.</p><p>Theme songs: “All These Things I Hate” by Bullet for my Valentine (for Ichigo) and “Sick or Sane” by Senses Fail (for Uryuu)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">A young man sits alone at the far end of a wooden pew, head bowed and hands clasped in silent prayer. Tightly pressed between his palms is a silver cross pendant inherited from his late grandfather. It has warmed welcomingly to his touch like so many times before, like it will many times more. Uryuu finishes his morning prayer with a whispered <em>amen</em> and lifts his head to see a cluster of classmates watching him from across the room. They snicker and gossip to each other at his expense, as many of his fellow students tend to do.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Top of his class with the pride to match, he is not well-liked among his peers. They call him elitist and rude and stoic, both behind his back and to his face. His natural genius and indomitable faith comprise an impermeable barrier preventing any connection he might otherwise form with them. Even the teachers in this private Catholic academy treat him differently because of it. At least they also respect and appreciate his penchant for excelling at anything thrown his way.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">None of that matters in the slightest. Uryuu occupies his days with study and his nights with prayer. Anything else is extraneous.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He touches the cross pendant to closed lips and lowers it to rest atop his grey and red-striped tie. Rising from the pew, he smooths wrinkles from his black uniform jacket and pulls the strap of his matching messenger bag over a shoulder. Class is starting soon and today won’t be the day he is tardy for the first time. He makes his way out of the chapel, up two flights of stairs, and down the hall to homeroom with minutes to spare.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The students are abuzz with idle conversation as he walks in to take his assigned seat. Although Uryuu does his best to ignore their pointless prattling, snippets of discussion float in his direction nonetheless. At least they aren’t talking about him this morning.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Did you hear the news about Kurosaki-kun? He got into another fight with one of the teachers yesterday!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you serious? Man, he is so badass! Wasn’t he the one who smuggled in spray paint last year?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah. Him and his friends vandalized the altar in the chapel. I still can’t believe they didn’t get expelled!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well, I heard Kurosaki took all the blame for it, and then his dad donated a bunch of money to keep him enrolled.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ha! Sounds like he couldn’t leave this place if he tried.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s probably why he keeps starting shouting matches with the teachers!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Their ensuing laughter suddenly dies off. Uryuu glances over his shoulder to see Kurosaki himself striding across the room to drop into his chair with an apathetic expression. His uniform is a joke: jacket creased, tie absent, shirt untucked. The top three buttons are undone and a brightly colored t-shirt is peeking out from underneath. He is wearing a non-regulation studded belt sloppily sticking sideways over his hip and a wallet chain that rattles noisily against the hard plastic seat. The already disruptive state of his loud hair is further exacerbated by the deliberate lack of a comb’s attention.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Rubbing a hand over his face, he heaves an aggravated sigh and slouches against an arm propped on his desk. The sleeve rides up a little from the bend of his elbow, revealing a black cross he has inked boldly at his wrist. Upside down. Uryuu frowns. He has seen this ‘accessory’ several times before. Kurosaki has a habit of periodically redrawing it when he gets bored in class. Far from a symbol of sincere belief in the antichrist, Uryuu long since figured out that it is merely one more method he uses to irk authority figures and win favor with his classmates.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Apparently, it works. Unlike him, Kurosaki is universally adored by the pupil populace, as evidenced by aforementioned thrilling gossip. Everyone loves a rebel. Everyone except Uryuu, who despises him most of all. Which explains why they have been bitter rivals for the past two years.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki notices the low-grade glare aimed in his direction and smirks. He gives Uryuu a patronizing little wave and chuckles at his wintry response. Blue eyes face front as Ochi-sensei steps up to her desk and prepares to call roll. Before she makes it to the end of the list, a folded piece of paper finds its way to a corner of Uryuu’s desk. He grits his teeth. The annoyed look he shoots Kurosaki asks, <em>It’s going to be one of those mornings, is it</em>? The self-satisfied punk raises his eyebrows as if to reply, <em>Looks like it.</em></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ignoring the note will only make things worse, he knows from past experience. So, with great reluctance Uryuu inconspicuously unfolds it in his lap to read what marvelous epiphanies might lie scribbled within.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Saw you eyeing my art, Ishida. I’ll draw you one, too, if you’re jealous.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He resists the urge to shred the sheet out of pure vindictive spite and instead neatly writes, <em>‘Art’, Kurosaki? A hyperactive child could do better work. And the proper word is ‘envious’, which you would know if you weren’t too stupid to learn basic language skills.</em></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ochi-sensei closes the roll book and turns to put dry-erase marker to board for the day’s first lesson. When she begins to speak, Uryuu flicks the flat square back in Kurosaki’s vicinity. He doesn’t bother glancing over to gauge the reaction, but says a quick prayer that it will end there. It doesn’t. The note is back on his desk in less than a minute.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>I don’t see a ‘no, thanks’ anywhere on this page. I’ll take that to mean you really want a one-of-a-kind Kurosaki Ichigo masterpiece sketched on right after class. Send another glare my way for ‘yes’.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Before he can stop himself, Uryuu is automatically glaring. Kurosaki laughs and Ochi-sensei interrupts her own lecture to toss a quick warning into the mix. Luckily, she doesn’t notice the incriminating page on Uryuu’s desk. As soon as is safe, he pens a scathing retort and sends it flying at the idiot. Three more times goes the agonizing circuit.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>The only thing I would ever want from you is </em>
  <em>
    <span class="u">silence</span>
  </em>
  <em>. Find someone else to pester!</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Aw, don’t be like that, Ishida! Who else brightens your day with witty banter? I know you secretly love these little talks. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re an actual human being with feelings and everything. They don’t suspect a thing!</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>I would rather be perceived as an emotionless android than associate with an ambitionless loser like you.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Who says I’m ambitionless? FYI, my goals are numerous and awesome. Becoming a stuck-up, dorky, religious nut just isn’t one of them.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>No, obviously you prefer to underachieve in every sense of the word and cause meaningless mayhem wherever you go.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki’s latest response bounces off the side of Uryuu’s head just as Ochi-sensei looks out at the class. She pauses mid-word and marches over to swipe the note off the floor. Uryuu tenses at her stern expression. Opening the note and skimming the dialogue, she frowns disapprovingly even as an eyebrow arches in intrigue. She tucks the note into a pocket of her standard white teachers’ blazer as evidence.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki, Ishida, you know the rules about note-passing. I’ll see you two after class.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The other students erupt in a scandalized <em>oooooh</em> as she resumes her place at the board. Uryuu doesn’t give Kurosaki the satisfaction of glowering a third time, choosing to concentrate on the lecture instead. In fact, he doesn’t spare another thought to the boy for the rest of the period. Not until the chime announces the end of class and everyone gets up to shuffle out of the room, except the two of them. Then Ochi-sensei steps into the hall to answer a few quick follow-up questions and Kurosaki opens his big mouth.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I bet you’re wondering what I wrote after you, huh?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’re not the tiniest bit curious?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>No</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“So, you don’t wonder why Ochi-sensei was so interested when she got to the end?” Uryuu bites his tongue but can’t keep from looking up in surprise. Kurosaki wears a wicked grin. “Well, if you don’t want to know…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What did you do, Kurosaki?” he hisses.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Not much. I may have implied you and I have been scheming over another vandalization project.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The chair screeches as Uryuu rushes to a stand. “You wanted to get caught, didn’t you? All of this was a ploy to get me in trouble!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What can I say, Ishida?” he shrugs, reclining back like he couldn’t be more unfazed about the whole situation, “I’m just an ambitionless loser who enjoys causing meaningless mayhem.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu is on him in an instant, grabbing a fistful of his messy uniform and yelling, “Don’t drag me into your nightmare! I have more important things to do with my time than put up with you!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ishida-kun!” Heads whip around to spot their teacher emerging from the hall. “I’m surprised at you! I expect this behavior from Kurosaki, but you should know better.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, <em>Ishida-kun</em>. Don’t you know better?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His hold on the boy’s shirt tightens, straining the stitches.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s enough, Kurosaki. Let him go, Ishida-kun.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He does, but not without taking a couple of buttons with him. Kurosaki lightly frowns to hear them tap the floor between his feet. Ishida takes a calming breath and addresses her in a reasonable tone of voice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I apologize, Ochi-sensei. It won’t happen again.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Not good enough. From this incident to the note passing, to the fight you two had in Kanonji-sensei’s class last Thursday,” which, for the record, was also Kurosaki’s fault, “It’s detention for both of you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What? You can’t be serious!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“This hurts me, too, Ishida-kun. Aside from your issues with Kurosaki, you’ve been a model student since you entered this school. But you’re both seniors now and this has gone on long enough. If I let you start the semester off like this, things will only escalate from here. Report back to me after the final bell.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Further protests are refuted with a firm slash of her hand. Ochi-sensei points them to the exit and goes to wait for the next class at her desk. Uryuu grabs his bag and stomps from the room with as much composure as he can muster under the circumstances. He has never been so furious in his life! Precious hours gouged from him forever. All because Kurosaki got <em>bored</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hey, wait up,” calls the culprit. Uryuu increases his pace. “Is this your first detention?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What do you think?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Then you’re lucky you get to spend it with me. Being cooped up in a room with nothing to do can get really dull. I’ll keep things lively.” Uryuu shoves him into a row of lockers as hard as he can. Kurosaki hits the metal with a clamor and a grunt, leaving a sizeable dent behind. He rubs his tenderized shoulder and asks, “Touched a nerve, huh?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Leave me alone!” Uryuu all but screams at him. The handful of students still loitering in the hall scatter from their blast radius. “Go back to your gang, public school drop-out!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The permanent moue between orange eyebrows deepens dangerously as Kurosaki’s taunting demeanor gives way to genuine anger. It seems Uryuu knows how to poke at his soft spots, too. Kurosaki crowds him toward the door of a janitorial closet and slams him up against it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You sure you want to antagonize a former gang member like this?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not afraid of you,” growls Uryuu, pushing him back.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s pretty reckless, considering I’ve got two inches and twenty pounds on you, easy.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s ‘easily’, Kurosaki. It’s called an adverb. Look it up.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Using the strap looped around his chest to yank Uryuu forward, he brings their faces close together as he evenly says, “That self-righteous attitude of yours is gonna get you into a world of trouble one of these days, Ishida. You should be more careful.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you threatening me?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Shaking his head, Kurosaki ominously promises, “Trust me, you’d know if I was.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Were.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Have you even cracked a book in the past decade?” Uryuu releases an exasperated sigh at his blank expression. “Unhand me. You’ve already landed us in detention; I won’t let you make me late for class, as well.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Be it shock over his audacity or something else entirely, Kurosaki does let him go. Uryuu pushes him out of the way and continues down the hall to his next class.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ochi-sensei seems glad to see them in a subtly sadistic kind of way. She orders them both to sit beside each other in the front row, smacking Kurosaki on the back of his head with a rolled up workbook when he dares to talk back. Standing before them with hands planted on hips, she sucks in a deep breath for the speech she’s been waiting to give all day.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s no secret to anyone in this school that you don’t get along. On the surface, you’re polar opposites. But guess what, guys? I’m willing to bet you have a lot more in common than you think.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Species and gender, that’s about it.” Kurosaki snorts, adding, “And I’m not totally convinced on the second part.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu kicks him in the shin.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hey! I want you both to <em>talk it out</em>. No more petty squabbles turned all-out brawls! The staff is collectively tired of it. Especially you, Kurosaki.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You expect me to reason with this heathen?” Uryuu cries. “We’ll be here all night!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’ll be here as long as it takes,” she decisively states, “So you better get chatting.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">With that, their teacher takes her exit and locks the door behind her. They look at each other for a moment. Then Uryuu pulls out a textbook and flips it to a relevant chapter. Kurosaki slaps it out of his hands.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Didn’t you hear her? No studying, Brainiac, we gotta talk.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I am not speaking to you. What would be the point? We both know why we hate each other, and those reasons aren’t going to change.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Psh. Shows what you know. I have no idea why one glimpse of you makes me wanna beat you up. I just go with my gut.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Retrieving his lost book, Uryuu once again turns to the proper page as he says, “In that case, allow me to summarize: you hate me primarily because I make you feel stupid even when I’m not trying and I have strong conviction in my faith while you are left uselessly questioning the universe and your place within it. Does that clear things up for you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki snatches the book from his grip and flings it across the room.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Nah, that’s not it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No? Enlighten me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hm…maybe it’s these?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He reaches out to snag Uryuu’s glasses right off his nose. The subsequent struggle draws Ochi-sensei back into the room, presumably from next door. She takes one look at their semi-wrestling match and groans.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Seriously, guys? You really leave me no choice here. One week’s detention.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hah.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Damn it, Kurosaki, this is all your doing!” His fists ache to punch the smug jackass right in his smirking mouth. “What exactly is your agenda?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I just love pissing you off, Ishida. Can’t you tell?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Okay!” interjects Ochi-sensei, wearily massaging her temples, “No more therapy for today. Just…quietly cohabitate until I dismiss you. Stay on separate sides of the room if you have to, I don’t care anymore.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Tuesday and Wednesday go much the same way as Monday, if not worse. Standing in front of the communal bathroom’s wide mirror, Uryuu pulls up the hem of his grey t-shirt and twists to examine a bruise on his lower back from where Kurosaki knocked him into the edge of a short bookcase earlier today. If anything, their spats are becoming more violent since Ochi-sensei decided to try the ‘lock them in a room together and let them hash it out’ method. It doesn’t help that Uryuu gives as much as he gets. It is a wonder they haven’t drawn blood yet. He’s sure Kurosaki is bound to be doing the same as him right now, only in the dormitory’s west wing instead of the east. Thank God they weren’t housed in the same hallway!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu returns to his room—thankfully single-occupancy as of this year on account of his senior status—and collapses into bed. Then instantly wishes he did so much more gingerly. Loosing a long sigh, he deposits his glasses safely on the side table and drapes an arm over his eyes. Brooding about his relationship with Kurosaki has been infringing on his sleep lately. It’s not that Uryuu <em>wants</em> to detest him, he just can’t seem to change it. The rational voice in his head tells him to form some sort of truce, but the louder voice is howling for him to smother the boy in his sleep.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His hand shifts to grasp his grandfather’s pendant. The one he never, ever takes off. If Souken were still alive he wouldn’t hesitate to chastise Uryuu for this unacceptable behavior. His path was always that of the pacifist. Nothing could be solved by treating conflict with violence, it would only lead to more strife. Uryuu <em>knows</em> this. The only way they will make it through their last school year intact is if they come to some manner of mutual agreement. A cease-fire of sorts. It is in both of their best interests to set their issues aside and move on.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And if Kurosaki can’t come to that conclusion on his own, Uryuu will just have to convince him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Easier said than done, he thinks as soon as he walks into the cursed classroom the next afternoon. Kurosaki has made even less effort with his uniform than usual, having shed both his black blazer and white button-up. Two necklaces hang to share limited space in the hollow of his collar bone. A neon green tee boasting an invective-ridden proclamation in imperfect English blares at Uryuu like an offensive beacon.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He positively cannot stop himself from greeting the boy with, “Goodness, Kurosaki, even your clothing is lacking in proper grammar. There really is no hope for you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu gets a rude gesture for his trouble. That’s strike one for Operation Cease-Fire. Dropping his bag into a random chair, he walks over to Kurosaki’s desk and waits for him to glance up from the manga he is perusing in lieu of actual studying. Uryuu opens his mouth to begin the persuasive monologue he practiced last night and this morning. Then he notices something odd on the cover. Tilting his head to see it clearer, he could almost swear…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What? You’ve never heard of Boy’s Love manga before?” His eyes flare to have his fear confirmed. Kurosaki scoffs at his appalled expression. “If you say ‘God hates fags’, Ishida, I swear I will deck you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I would never—well, I wouldn’t say it like that,” he amends, incredibly uncomfortable with the subject, “But you know it’s wrong. You attend a <em>Catholic</em> school. We’ve all read the Bible.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Fuck your Bible,” is the heated retort, complete with glare. “I’m not Catholic. I’m not even Christian. Proud atheist, through and through. If you don’t like it, add it to the list.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Taking a moment to mentally regroup, he cordons that topic off for now. It will only lead to bad things. Very bad things.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Listen, I don’t want to argue with you today. I’ve been thinking about this, and it makes sense for us to stop our feud before it spirals out of control.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You do realize you’re talking to the poster-boy for ‘out of control’? I’ve got the anarchy patch to prove it,” he brags, pointing to a red circled A sewn onto his bag. “What makes you think I’d want to give up my favorite hobby of making your life hell?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The muscles in his jaw jump from the effort of keeping his mouth shut against a rush of righteous fury. The slow bloom of Kurosaki’s knowing grin does nothing to assuage his ire.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Because if we continue at this pace we won’t last the year.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You mean they’ll kick us out? If only!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu folds himself into the empty seat next to him, wilting from emotional fatigue. He studies Kurosaki, who has already gone back to reading his smut, and considers his options. It might help to understand him a little better.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If you hate religion and you hate this school, why not transfer somewhere else?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Without looking up from his book, Kurosaki grumbles, “Because my dumbass dad won’t let me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why not?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“None of your business.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Another dead end. At this rate, Uryuu is going to earn a migraine long before he earns Kurosaki’s accord. He turns a page and hums thoughtfully, completely oblivious to Uryuu’s imminent breakdown.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Did I do something to you?” he blurts out of sheer desperation. “Aside from the usual, I mean. Maybe something I don’t even know about or remember? Anything that could explain this animosity?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki sets his manga flat on the desk and rotates to face him. “You really wanna know?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Yes</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s not that complicated, Ishida. I think you’re a sanctimonious, arrogant, intolerant douchebag and I hate your face.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“And you’re a stubborn, impetuous imbecile who would rather throw everything into chaos for the fun of it than make an honest attempt at influencing your own life!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Great. Now that’s settled, can I read in peace?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, that’s rich coming from you! Did your selective memory erase the fact that you’ve been keeping me from getting any schoolwork done all week?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, but now I want to read, so count your blessings or whatever and shut the hell up.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“How can you even read something like that here?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Easily.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">While he is processing the revelation that Kurosaki actually learned something from him, the boy rises from his desk to stand behind Uryuu’s. He uses the circle of his arms to hold the book right in front of Uryuu’s face, and also to hold him in place.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki, whatareyoudoing?” he rattles in a rush, deeply unsettled by the abrupt maneuver.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m showing you how I can read something like this. See, this guy has the hots for his neighbor, who has a girlfriend but he might be kinda gay. It’s not clear yet. So, he gets his neighbor drunk one night while the girlfriend is gone and—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t want to hear the plot!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, you just want to skip right to the steamy scenes?” Kurosaki asks, voice lowering as he moves his mouth closer to Uryuu’s ear, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. “All righty. Naked men comin’ right up.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What? No, that’s not what I’m saying!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I really like how they drew the kissing scenes in this one. They convey the hesitation and helpless lust so well. Plus, sound effects can really make the difference, y’know?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu goes rigid in his seat. There are detailed drawings of men making out a handbreadth from his nose. He doesn’t want to see this. He should not be seeing this. Kurosaki turns a page and Uryuu chokes, yanking his hands up to cover his eyes. It’s too late. He already saw them having…<em>homosexual intercourse</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Put it away,” he begs. “Put it away, Kurosaki!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t act so traumatized. This one isn’t even that graphic.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s <em>vile</em>!” Uryuu knocks the book away and ignores the boy’s indignant protests. “What was the purpose of that? To disgust me? This is a new low, even for you!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Halting in the process of fetching the book from the floor in front of his desk, Kurosaki tugs and then pins Uryuu’s arms to the desktop to growl at very close proximity, “Is it a new low, Ishida? The thought of a man being attracted to another man disgusts you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Of course!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Then why are you blushing?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“B-because it’s embarrassing!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why are you shaking?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m angry—livid!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His grip tightens painfully around Uryuu’s forearms. “Why are your pupils dilated? Why are your lips flushed? Why are you breathing so hard?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you,” he cautiously begins, breathless with incredulity, “Are you seriously insinuating that I am…<em>aroused</em> by that filth?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki lets up, pacing several steps away. His nostrils are flaring and his eyebrows are almost touching. For all the times they’ve antagonized each other, Uryuu has never seen him this agitated before. It seems he stumbled upon the boy’s number one weakness. He could milk it for endless exploitation and instigate a final battle, or…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What do you want from me?” Kurosaki turns to appraise his sincerity. “What will it take to get you off my back for the rest of the year?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you bargaining with me?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If that’s what it takes.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He is considering it. Uryuu can tell he is really thinking about it. Gradually, a change comes over Kurosaki’s countenance as some undoubtedly nefarious notion burgeons in his mind. Uryuu doesn’t like the manic look in his eyes when he closes the distance to stand before him again.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kiss me.” His stomach drops and his chest constricts. There is no way he heard that right. Kurosaki hastily repeats, “Kiss me and I’ll pretend you don’t exist for the rest of the school year.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Alarm rings, panic rises, heart shudders. Uryuu stands with a clatter and instinctually backs away from him, shaking his head when the words won’t immediately come to him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“N-no! Why would you—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Because it disgusts you,” Kurosaki coldly snarls. He gains ground faster than Uryuu can lose it. His back meets a solid surface and he gasps as he is promptly trapped against it. “Because it’s ‘wrong’. Because I know you’ll never compromise your precious <em>Word of God </em> just to be rid of me. Because you’re a good little Catholic boy and you wouldn’t dare do something so revolting with your worst enemy. Would you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu swallows around the lump in his throat and forgets to breathe for a few seconds. Kurosaki is right: it is absolutely inconceivable. Such an act goes against everything he believes. His fingers enclose his cross of their own volition. He shuts his eyes and prays for the fortitude to withstand this heinous tribulation. His eyes fly open as Kurosaki forces him to release the pendant and rips it from his neck. It is lobbed carelessly to the ground with a harshly challenging expression.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Seeing it discarded there like second-hand junk does something to him. All the anxiety and dissension disappears. His mind clears. He shoves Kurosaki off him and throws a punch for good measure. The boy is too blindsided to block and he bumps against a desk from the impact of a heavy blow to his cheek. Bringing a hand to his mouth, Kurosaki curses to see it come away bloody. He stares at Uryuu but makes no move to return the attack.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">An adrenaline-charged pause passes. Kurosaki straightens, moving to grab his things and leave the room without a single parting word or glance. It takes three tries for Uryuu to pick his necklace up, due to the incessant trembling of his fingers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The lamp perched on the corner of his desk seems to glare accusatorily at him, harsh white light beaming straight through lowered eyelids. The book’s open face reflects and amplifies the effect until he swipes it shut with a resonant <em>thump</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu has been trying to study for a quiz tomorrow but he can’t concentrate at all. He keeps going over and over what happened with Kurosaki earlier that day. Like an image of a gruesome car crash, those disturbing manga pages keep flashing in his mind. And the look on Kurosaki’s face, the sound of his voice when he criticized Uryuu for refusing to kiss him. He throws down his pencil in frustration and presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, indulging an irritated groan.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">In retrospect, he is thinking maybe enduring one hateful kiss is worth caging the beast. Every time he tries to imagine it, his stomach squirms and his pulse races. His head starts to pound. He feels faintly sick. He thinks he is going insane.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu realizes he hasn’t eaten since lunch and it’s almost lights-out. Left with the choice between having a shower or grabbing a snack, he chooses the shower. With no clothing to conceal them, darkening marks stand out against pale flesh. The brand new bruises Kurosaki squeezed into his arms like possessive fingerprints. He scrubs and scrubs, trying to drown out his thoughts with the hot spray of water but in the end, all he gets is raw skin and pruned hands.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Even after dressing and returning to his room, he can’t wind down. Uryuu falls into bed but he doesn’t sleep. No, he spends half the night worrying over it again and again until he is half-mad with indecision. He prays. He thinks about kissing Kurosaki and he pushes his face into the pillow when the fantasy feels too real.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hours after midnight, he stares up at his ceiling, perfectly still and unblinking, until his eyes sting too much and he has to squeeze them shut. The world goes blank and empty like he wishes his roiling mind could.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He missed a question on the quiz. It is the first imperfect grade he has earned in years and it is entirely Kurosaki’s fault. If he hadn’t been up all night ruminating on the horrifying choice posed to him, Uryuu would have aced the quiz like he always does. As if invading the sanctity of his mind isn’t enough, Kurosaki’s odious influence has extended to his grades, his <em>livelihood</em>. It was probably intentional, too. Uryuu can just picture him grinning about it like he won a contest.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ochi-sensei gives him a concerned once-over when he checks in for detention.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You look exhausted,” she unhelpfully observes. “Late cram session?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Pursing his lips, Uryuu doesn’t bother answering. He walks into the classroom next door and skewers Kurosaki with the most potent glower he can manage in his weakened state. The miscreant is seated at the teacher’s desk twirling a highlighter one-handed with his legs kicked up and a red bubble expanding from between his lips. He is wearing a fleur de lis-emblazoned periwinkle v-neck today, the rest of his uniform top chucked over the back of a random seat. Moron probably doesn’t even know what the popular pattern embodies: everything Kurosaki isn’t.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The gum pops and the highlighter halts.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Damn, Ishida,” he says, looking him up and down, “Rough night?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Shut up.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It doesn’t sting with half as much vitriol as he intends. Uryuu sinks into a chair and carelessly dumps his bag on the floor. His only consolation is in the light bruise on Kurosaki’s jaw and the knowledge that the cut on the inside of his cheek must have hurt when he brushed his teeth this morning. The boy drops his feet to sit up and lean forward with a deviously amused tint to his features.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I heard what happened. Keigo told me all about how <em>the </em>Ishida Uryuu missed a question on his biology quiz. You must be so devastated.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Shut <em>up</em>, Kurosaki.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His laughter burns in Uryuu’s blood. It is all he can do not to spring up and tackle the boy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It didn’t have anything to do with our conversation yesterday, did it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m warning you…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Because I would have mixed feelings about being the cause of your misfortune. On one hand, it might be funny, but…” Pinching his chin in a thoughtful gesture, he smiles and finishes, “No, it really is just hilarious.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The next thing Uryuu knows, he is looming over the boy with both fists curling into his obnoxiously stylish shirt.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I said shut the hell up!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The bastard is still more amused than angry. He coolly replies, “I’m happy to have another fight, if you’re that eager to get us kicked out.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The reminder serves to rein in Uryuu’s temper just enough to settle for verbal ammunition.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you have to act like one. Always pretending you’re a God damned social vigilante…Look at you, you’re a fucking disgrace! Why don’t you do everyone a favor and slink back to the shit-stained alley you crawled out of?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Wow,” drawls Kurosaki with raised eyebrows. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think a pious nerd like you had it in him.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu’s rejoinder leaves him in a whoosh as he is suddenly shoved against the white board behind him. The vacated chair rocks violently in Kurosaki’s eruptive wake. Brown eyes cut into him, advertising aggression brought to the surface. Uryuu’s attempts to push him away fail spectacularly and his heart starts to hammer nervously.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Get off me!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Or what? You’ll keep cussing me out? Go ahead, I kinda like it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu falls still at that. He can’t honestly be suggesting those awful words <em>turned him on</em>!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’re sick, Kurosaki,” he snaps, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Twisted pervert!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Authentic offense sours his disposition. “Which will it be, Ishida? A kiss or a fight, because one of two is gonna happen.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And he despises Kurosaki so, <em>so </em>much but his father will practically disown him if he gets expelled for bad behavior. Boiled down to base elements, Uryuu has no choice in the matter. Kurosaki has dragged him into this madness and there is zero wiggle room left.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A mournful noise sticks in his throat as Uryuu kisses him, close-mouthed and quick. Kurosaki blinks, a bit dumbstruck like he didn’t expect him to really do it. He recovers swiftly.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Nuh-uh. That’s not nearly good enough. You’ll have to do a lot better if you want me to hold up my end of the deal.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Outrage heats Uryuu’s cheeks. He starts to object but he already knows it’s futile. The second kiss lingers. Unsure what to do, he secretly hopes the other boy will take over. After a few fleeting seconds, Kurosaki does, releasing his grip on restrained arms to hold his head instead. The slow drag of fingers through his hair is disconcertingly intimate. Each press of lips is contrastingly gentle compared to the brutal shower of sparks it triggers in his stomach. Over and over, their mouths touch and join. The periodic shift and tilt of Kurosaki’s aim sets his head swimming. Uryuu’s nails seek fruitless purchase against the sleek dry-erase board.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The nudge of a hot tongue is too shocking to abide.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Jerking back, he pitches an impulsive punch that never lands because Kurosaki catches his wrist and throws Uryuu against the teacher’s desk. Displaced school supplies go skidding across its surface to patter and clack onto the floor. Kurosaki uses the brief interlude of disorientation to toss out his gum and pluck off Uryuu’s glasses. Then he is right back in position between spread legs. Forced to brace himself with both arms against the desktop or risk being pinned to it, he has no defense as Kurosaki takes full advantage of new leverage to breach the steadfast seal of his mouth. Uryuu shudders to feel a tongue brushing against his. He makes an urgent sound that encourages the boy to deepen the kiss even further.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His breath is coming shorter with every frantic beat of his pulse. It feels like he is going to pass out any minute. How pathetic! Determined not to let Kurosaki retain all the control, he begins kissing back with purpose and wins a startled hum for his efforts. A stray thought of that salacious manga panel boosts his rebellious mood. Uryuu thinks of the bruise decorating the boy’s jaw because of it and diverts to the matching cut inside his cheek. Kurosaki breaks the kiss on a short hiss. Their eyes clash, adamantly defiant. Uryuu grunts as his hair is tugged and a rougher kiss is engaged.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">By the time Kurosaki eases up several minutes later, Uryuu is winded and woozy. He slumps against the desk without Kurosaki to help support him. Uryuu wipes his mouth on a sleeve and regards him with an unavoidably feeble glare. Although he would love to channel all his remaining energy into the gesture, he is at a significant loss. In the heat of it, he merely reacted. Now that it’s over he realizes he didn’t exactly abhor the experience as much as he should have.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Making out with his nemesis was sort of nice and he instantly loathes himself for it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you satisfied now?” Uryuu acerbically prompts once he catches his breath. “Will you quit starting inane disputes and generally ruining my life?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Licking his lips with a pensive cast to his features, Kurosaki slowly nods. Uryuu exhales. Thus, the truce is officially enacted. As a vexatious signing bonus, his tongue is left tingling pleasantly from the remnants of Kurosaki’s cinnamon-flavored gum.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">On the outside, the rest of the week passes painlessly. He and Kurosaki stay on cordial terms and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Ochi-sensei commends their maturity and lets them off the hook for the rest of their stint. Two more weeks elapse and other teachers begin to notice how less volatile their chief troublemaker is acting toward authority figures. Perhaps provoking Uryuu was a major factor in his daily disobedience and without that he is more inclined to calm down. Or maybe Kurosaki is just lying low while he orchestrates his next grand revolt.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">On the inside, Uryuu’s entire world is flipped upside down. Resolving to forget about the kiss lasted for all of a couple hours. Since then, it has been the principal subject of his angst-ridden musings. At first, he blamed it on teenage hormones. When even intense prayer couldn’t quell improper thoughts, however, he realized it was so much worse than that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The last of his bruises have long since faded, but the sense-memories of how he got them remain writ in his flesh. More times than he cares to acknowledge, he has caught himself touching his arms and remembering how Kurosaki gripped tightly there for rejecting his manga. Occasionally, his hands graze the spot on his side where he was knocked into the desk at a weird angle. And when he is particularly weak-willed, Uryuu will lick his lips and recall how it felt to have a foreign tongue pressing there instead.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Is the truce worth the cost?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki may not be bothering him in class anymore, but he has been bothering Uryuu in his own mind <em>constantly</em>. The worst part is knowing this is exactly what Kurosaki wanted. Every scrap of self-doubt, self-loathing, self-consciousness he feels is because of the sacrifice Uryuu made of his own principles, of his own volition. He feels violated. He feels enraged. He feels like he can never atone for the way part of him still experiences a modicum of pleasure at the memory.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The sharp point of a mechanical pencil pressing into the soft pad of his thumb doesn’t do much to counteract it. Uryuu heaves a resigned sigh, depositing his pencil into the crease of an open textbook. The vacant grid of a fresh sheet in his graphing notebook is cruelly mocking. How can he be expected to care about radians and cosine functions with a moral crisis at hand?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A quiet knock at the door delays a fresh wave of desolation.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Glancing at the clock beside his bed, Uryuu confirms that it is quite late at night. He pads over to the door and cautiously pulls it open. Kurosaki pushes his way inside and flips the lock behind himself.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What are y—!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His mouth is covered by a broad palm as Kurosaki hisses, “Shh, stop yelling before you wake everyone up and get us both in trouble!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Grudgingly acknowledging the wisdom of his warning, Uryuu smacks his arm away and decreases the volume but not the venom.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What are you doing in my room? Get out!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Not until I get what I came for.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Which would be what, precisely?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His eyes attain a mischievous glint. “It’s time to renew our contract, Ishida, assuming you want us to stay on amenable terms.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t spout nonsense, Kurosaki. That was a one-time deal and you know it!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It was. I changed my mind.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You don’t get to just <em>change your mind</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“According to who?” Uryuu is too upset to correct his grammar this time, which says it all, really. He crosses his arms defensively when Kurosaki stalks closer, continuing, “Why settle for one little kiss when I can make you my personal source of entertainment?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You are seriously depraved if you think I would ever—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No? The thought of doing it again never crossed your mind?” A dizzying blend of dread and desire swirls precariously in his chest. Uryuu’s pause is an admission. Kurosaki smiles, looking very proud and leonine as he stops right in front of his intended prey. “That’s what I figured.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t go making assumptions on your own! For your information, I haven’t thought of that horrendous episode even once. Just looking at you makes me nauseous. I want nothing to do with you!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He ditches the smile and snaps, “Well, I don’t care what you want. Unless you’re fine with expulsion, you’ll do what <em>I </em>want.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His hatred of the boy doubles even as he knows he has been hopelessly ensnared. Uryuu doesn’t bother asking why. Kurosaki is nothing if not transparent. His main interest in this arrangement is to degrade Uryuu as much as possible, to send him sinking deeper into an endless mire of misery. But nothing Kurosaki can do to him would be as bad as facing his father’s wrath and all the shame that goes along with disappointing him in such a profound way.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Every violent sentiment he is dying to utter is prudently quelled. Uryuu lowers crossed arms and fearlessly stares him down.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Do it, then. But <em>fuck you</em> if you think I’m going to make it easy.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Now that you mention it, we’d better tie you down to something. You might get off on pain-play but it’s not my favorite kink.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu’s vision blurs as blind wrath blazes through his veins. He lunges, but Kurosaki anticipates the assault and counters by shoving him atop the mattress. Before Uryuu can bounce twice, he is straddled and pinned with his hands stretched above his head. Kurosaki looks around, spots his alarm clock, and rips it from the outlet to use as impromptu bindings. Uryuu curses and thrashes all the while, doing more harm to himself for straining against the black cord cinching around his wrists than to his captor.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">With his arms anchored to the headboard and his legs locked between Kurosaki’s, he has never felt more vulnerable. It makes his heart judder and his face heat. The way he is openly ogling Uryuu summons a disconcerted shiver. This was a <em>terrible</em> idea.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Stop looking at me like you want to eat me alive,” he assertively commands. “Unscrupulous freak!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Rather than raise his hackles at the insult, Kurosaki grins. “Bitch all you like, but I know deep down you can’t wait for me to touch you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Go to Hell!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s it,” he whispers, removing his glasses and leaning closer, “Show me your sinister side, Ishida. Are you a naughty Catholic boy? Do you deserve to be punished?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He can’t bring himself to say ‘no’ but he isn’t about to say ‘yes’. In the end, he doesn’t say anything at all. Kurosaki reads the conflict in his eyes and eagerly licks his lips. Uryuu can almost feel the warmth of his tongue. If he arched his neck their mouths would collide. He swallows against the feelings this minor epiphany evokes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When Kurosaki kisses him, he doesn’t put up much resistance. Neither does he offer active participation. A few seconds is all it takes for him to recoil and fix Uryuu with an irritated glare that he willingly returns.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What? Do you expect my enthusiasm for causing you pain to match that of causing you pleasure?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I expect you to be smart enough to realize I’ll gladly cause a scene in class tomorrow if it doesn’t.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu lifts his head to start round two himself, pouring all the ardor of his abhorrence into it. Kurosaki makes a surprised sound and kisses back just as wildly. But those vicious flames are soon banked by the same avalanche of sensation that buried him the first time they did this. Uryuu is floundering in it, struggling for breath within moments. He squirms beneath Kurosaki and absently tugs at bound wrists. The cord digging into sensitive skin is distracting for all the wrong reasons.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The slick sounds of their kissing grow too loud in reddening ears. Uryuu thinks of that stupid, stupid manga and can’t help agreeing that the noises make a huge difference because all he wants to do is scream until he can’t hear them echoing inside his head anymore.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As though sensing his encroaching panic, Kurosaki pets lightly along his side in a soothing fashion. It has the opposite effect. Uryuu tries to break the kiss but a hand cups his jaw to hold him steady. A frenetic unease melds with something purposely unnamed and thoroughly damning. Kurosaki’s fingertips trace down his thin grey t-shirt, preparing to slip below it for a caress of bare flesh. Urgency spikes in his bloodstream. The damp heat of a hand stroking low over his belly forewarns of an intolerable conclusion. He finally jerks free of the kiss to prevent a fall he will not survive.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No,” Uryuu definitively declares, “Kurosaki,<em> no</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And to his infinite relief, the boy immediately backs down, though the pinch to his features says he isn’t happy about it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I wasn’t going to—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Untie me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Gearing up to argue, Kurosaki reconsiders as he decodes Uryuu’s worried expression. He curses under his breath and reaches up to pull the knot. He doesn’t wait to be told to leave.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Four days later, the latest batch of bruises still faintly ring his wrists like macabre bracelets. The sleeves of his uniform aren’t quite long enough to cover them completely but no one says a word about it, if they even notice. Uryuu thinks his classmates have become so used to him ignoring them that they have taken to ignoring him back. Much more concerning than their potentially embarrassing assumptions is the fact that he keeps catching himself idly rubbing over the tender loops when his mind starts to wander. Anyway, nothing they could assume would be as embarrassing as the reality.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He still can’t believe he let Kurosaki do it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu glances at the boy to hear him answer Kanonji-sensei’s question erroneously but with relative courtesy, considering his naturally rowdy disposition. The teacher corrects him kindly and moves on. This is how things have been since they ‘renewed the contract’. Despite getting greedy and editing their terms on a whim, Kurosaki has never broken character in class. It is clear that Uryuu’s enrollment here will be secure as long as he doesn’t outright refuse the boy’s demands.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A tolling bell stirs him from his meditations. He packs up his school supplies and heads toward the exit but he doesn’t make it through the door.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ishida-kun, may I have a word?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Of course, Kanonji-sensei.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Stepping toward the man’s desk, he sees Kurosaki pass from the corner of his eye. Their gazes do not meet. Kanonji-sensei waits for the last of the students to shuffle into the hall before addressing him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he jokes, beaming affably. “I just wanted to personally thank you for the positive influence you’ve been on Kurosaki-kun lately. His attitude has really mellowed since you became friends.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Offense tinges his words as he states, “I assure you, Kurosaki and I are not friends.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, you boys and your bravado!” Kanonji-sensei guffaws good-naturedly. “Call it friendship or rivalry, but the whole staff is grateful for what you’ve done. You know, many of the other students have also calmed with that troublemaking ringleader slipping under the radar for a change. As a token of appreciation, we have agreed to write glowing letters of recommendation for your university applications. Just let us know where to send them!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He claps Uryuu on the shoulder, which is significantly less jarring than the trophy he just awarded. Between his stellar grades and a roster of recommendations, any university he applies to will surely accept him. Kanonji is basically handing him the second half of a key to his ideal future on a silver platter.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Thank you,” he carefully intones.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You are most welcome, m’boy! Now, hurry to your next period before the bell!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">After school that day, Uryuu makes a bee-line for the chapel. Typically empty save for mandatory mass, his soft footsteps are the only sound in the peaceful cathedral. He pauses in front of the altar, crossing himself and kissing his pendant like a rosary. Then he picks a pew and takes a seat. There are too many things to pray over these days. Mostly that he has been trying so hard not to think about making out with Kurosaki <em>twice</em> and how it made him feel. How it <em>makes</em> him feel when he does think about it. Sometime after their second session, Uryuu realized he was becoming angrier with himself for how he felt when Kurosaki kissed him than he is angry at the boy for kissing him. And that is the worst of all.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A twinge at his wrist tells him he is subconsciously touching the bruises again.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The confessional box rests empty and inviting on the other side of the room. He hasn’t taken confession since before all of this madness started. Uryuu would love to enclose himself in the snug wooden space and divulge every sordid detail of his tormented psyche. It is simply too risky. What if the priest elected to take action? What if the headmaster was notified? What if word of the betrayal somehow got back to Kurosaki? No, he is better off atoning for his sins in the privacy of his own mind. However numerous and suffocating they may be.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">At least something positive has come of it. Uryuu was happy to hear the teachers are relieved and the students are more focused. Of course, the promise of university admittance is a plus. If nothing else, they serve as reasons to bear the indignity of dealing with Kurosaki. This might turn out to be the hardest trial of his life but he will trust in God to get him through it. What else can he do?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He stays bowed in prayer until his stomach begs attention. In light of recent events, he hasn’t been eating or sleeping as well as he should. Since he only really has control over one of the two, Uryuu forces himself upright and travels to the cafeteria for dinner. There are already plenty of talkative students occupying many of the tables when he arrives. He takes his tray to an empty corner and pulls a book from his bag to read while he eats in solitude. A familiar routine.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The last of his meal is eventually consumed, but Uryuu lingers there for the better part of an hour. Something about the boisterous chorus of so many other voices succeeds in dimming the gloomy cadence of his own. Enough to let him finish one chapter and begin another. Barricaded in the corner with a wide pillar blocking him from view, he is content to reside in the false haven for a little while longer.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">False it certainly is, for no sooner does he sigh in satisfaction than a new group of students claims a table near his. Kurosaki is among them. Uryuu reluctantly tunes in to the middle of their conversation a few minutes later at the sound of his own name.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I wonder why Kanonji held Ishida after class earlier.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Who knows? Probably asking for help on his tax return.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Man, anyone as smart and quiet as Ishida has got to be a sociopath or something. Have you guys ever seen him smile?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A round of ‘no’s answers the uncouth question. It seems they haven’t noticed the subject of their discussion sitting within earshot. They’re too busy shoveling food into their faces and blabbing nonsense to look around. Uryuu packs away his book, having no desire to play secret audience for their slander. He freezes to hear Kurosaki finally speak up.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ishida’s not a sociopath, he’s just way too serious for his age.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You say that like you know something about him.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, Ichigo. Are those rumors about you two for real?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I overheard the teachers saying he’s the reason you gave up the good fight. Say it ain’t so!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">From this angle, Uryuu can’t see his face. He has no idea what kind of expression Kurosaki is making when he replies, “Look, all you assholes need to know is Ishida and I have an agreement that I’m not about to break. So, don’t start shit with him or spread stupid rumors. Got it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The other boys grumble forlorn affirmatives and Uryuu grips the table for stability as the world tilts on its axis because Kurosaki just <em>defended him</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Uryuu stops in the middle of the hallway and stares. The towel he was just using to blot the dripping ends of his hair nearly slips from slackened fingers. Kurosaki is waiting outside his door, leaning against the frame with crossed arms and a grumpy expression. He notices Uryuu and straightens.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What took you so long? Hurry up and unlock the door.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Cognizant of possible eavesdroppers, he waits to begin berating the boy after they enter his bedroom.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you crazy!?” Uryuu quietly but irately accuses as he sets down his shower caddy and hangs the towel on its hook, “What if someone saw you lurking outside my door?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Give me some credit; I made sure no one was around first and I wasn’t waiting long. Besides, I never promised to keep my mouth shut about what we’re doing.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What <em>are</em> we doing, Kurosaki? It was just supposed to be once but this makes three times you’ve harassed me. Do you think I’ll just keep giving in to whatever you want?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He adopts a familiar smile and says, “Yeah, you will. Not only because you want to stay in this school, but also because I know you like doing these types of things with me, Ishida. I’ll get you to admit it sooner or later.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Shoving him to bang against the door, Uryuu retorts, “You really are psychotic if you think I don’t resent <em>every single second</em> I’m around you!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki grabs both of his wrists and tugs them behind his own back in a forced mockery of an embrace. He takes a deep whiff of Uryuu’s freshly showered scent and hums approvingly.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You smell amazing. What kind of soap is that?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Rather than indulge the change of topic, Uryuu tries to wrangle out of his grasp but he is held firm. The riveting pressure of Kurosaki’s hands on fading bruises saps some of the fire fueling his opposition.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Let <em>go.</em>”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He does, but likely because he was going to anyway. Pulling something from a pocket, he holds it up for Uryuu to see.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Did you notice I was wearing a tie earlier today? I did it for you, so we’d have something softer to use for this.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘This’ being a repeat of the last time they were alone in his room. An obligatory wrestling match doesn’t attenuate the outcome. Kurosaki fastens him to the headrest and climbs astride like he belongs there. He steals Uryuu’s glasses and sets them safely atop the side table before they do anything else. The considerate actions make him that much more annoyed for reasons he doesn’t care to comprehend.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Silk tie or barbed wire, what difference does it make to you? Don’t act like you give a shit about my comfort!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I know you like it when I’m a little rough,” asserts Kurosaki in his best seductive tone, “But I won’t take it too far. How about this: I won’t hurt you unless you hurt me first. Seem fair?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It seems like you’re even more of a devious lunatic than I thought.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The jab spurs him into motion. From the first touch of Kurosaki’s mouth, a war is launched inside him. Loathing and lust vie for the forefront of his thoughts. Confusion and a bitter refusal to accept reality inspire a foolish idea. Uryuu lashes out by biting into the boy’s lower lip.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He jerks back with a disgruntled noise and tentatively touches the stinging site. It isn’t bleeding. Narrowed eyes widen on some dawning insight that has him reaching down to yank the collar of his shirt aside. Then Kurosaki bends forward to bite the side of his throat. Uryuu cries out in astonishment and a palm is placed to muffle the sound.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Careful, Ishida,” warns a warm murmur against his ear, “We don’t wanna get caught, remember?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki goes in for another press of teeth, slow and raking. Not nearly strong enough to break the skin. More than strong enough to trigger a strangled yelp that resembles the beginnings of a moan. Startled to hear such a thing coming from Uryuu, he rears back to analyze his features. The hand is removed to let him speak but he has nothing to say for himself. He averts his gaze and pretends he isn’t blushing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When Kurosaki continues to watch him, he goads, “What are you staring at? Just get it over with.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t rush me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The boy doesn’t kiss him right away. He is fixated on teasing more of those new sounds from Uryuu via his sensitive neck. Sucking and nibbling and licking. Being instructed not to leave a mark his uniform won’t cover, Kurosaki offers no verbal response but obligingly moves lower. He promptly produces a hickey at the crux of shoulder and throat, dragging blunt teeth over the throbbing bruise. It is liquid lightning in Uryuu’s chest. His eyes fly open on a quick gasp only to squeeze shut on a lasting shiver.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Kurosaki</em>,” he complains, trying to scoot away from his mouth, “Knock it off already!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“This is your own fault. If you had just kissed me instead of being difficult—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Then kiss me!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A very strange moment ticks by because it almost seems as though Uryuu just asked to be kissed. Like he <em>wants</em> it. The flush to his cheeks darkens under Kurosaki’s satisfied smirk. He moves from straddling Uryuu to have them lie facing each other on their sides instead, getting cozy and settling in before initiating a sultry kiss that lasts much longer than last time. He wisely keeps his hands to himself.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They make out until his jaw grows sore, his tongue gets tired, and his lips feel chapped. All the while struggling to think of anything else. Taking holy communion and the dry taste of unleavened wafers. The library’s bland smell of dust and old books. That he should buy Chapstick next time he goes shopping. His father’s critical glare. Even the latter can’t shake Kurosaki’s hold over him. He has become so captivated by the kiss that he doesn’t mentally rejoice when it finally ends.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu shifts uncomfortably at the thought. His hip grazes Kurosaki’s thigh and a groan shatters the silence between them. For an instant he isn’t sure which of them it sprang from because his head is spinning so fast. It feels like falling. It feels like high voltage because that thigh is sliding warm and solid between his legs. Uryuu moans again, unmistakably, and Kurosaki hisses a vulgar exclamation.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Holy fucking shit, Ishida,” he breathlessly blasphemes, “Is this why you made me stop last time? Does it get you this excited just to kiss me? <em>Fuck</em>. Knew you were secretly a dirty gay boy just like me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I am<em> not</em>,” whispers Uryuu, but his argument is pretty weak with contrary evidence straining eagerly between them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki removes his infernal thigh and Uryuu hides his flaming face against an upraised arm. Mortification eviscerates him from the inside out. He doesn’t fight half as hard as he should when Kurosaki rolls him over and snuggles up close behind. Arms wrap around his torso and legs bend to bracket his in place. The boy’s matching erection is firm against his lower back, and Uryuu exhales harshly to feel what that knowledge does to his own.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’re a god damn hypocrite, but I won’t leave you like this,” vows Kurosaki. “I’m gonna take care of you tonight.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He kisses the back of Uryuu’s neck and slips a hand beneath his shirt to rub across his abs. They tighten responsively, creating a ripple of buzzing pleasure across his skin. Kurosaki’s palm dips lower, under his waistband, and brushes his rigid cock. Uryuu smothers a shocked noise in the crook of his elbows. Fingers gently squeeze. His mouth is gaping but he can’t breathe. It is the best thing he has ever felt. Pure elation and wicked sin.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Bastard</em>,” he shakily condemns even as a pulse of hot fluid slicks the boy’s slowly sliding fingers. “Evil, impious, wretched—A-<em>aahn</em>!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The calculated nudge of Kurosaki’s thumb wrings a loud moan from him. His free hand darts up to cover Uryuu’s mouth as he increases the pace, along with the frequency of helpless noises. Hips move on their own, rocking up into the hold and back against Kurosaki. He is treated to a low groan for the intuitive movement.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you close, Ishida? Do you want me to make you come all over yourself?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Since he can’t voice the rancorous reply that deserves, Uryuu nips his palm before recalling their former conditional statement. Kurosaki hasn’t forgotten. He bites hard into Uryuu’s shoulder and pumps faster. Concentration slips just for a second and he can’t hold it back anymore. A powerful release shreds into him and Uryuu thinks he might be dying. Thinks maybe he <em>should</em> be dying because something so horribly wrong shouldn’t feel so devastatingly wonderful that his head is about to explode.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His hips are writhing, lungs working, blood rushing and Kurosaki tenses behind him. The temporary absence of his ragged breathing is most conspicuous of all. Then it wavers out on a short sigh and Uryuu knows he just made the other boy come, too. It’s so screwed up. Everything is just so screwed up and he can’t forgive himself for never saying ‘no’. The whole time Kurosaki was <em>defiling</em> him, one word could’ve saved him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Why didn’t he say ‘no’?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">While they are still recovering, Kurosaki quickly cleans his hand with a tissue before untying him. Uryuu folds freed arms about his middle and pulls his knees in toward his chest. A judgmental litany aimed mostly at himself echoes around and around his mind even as his body still tingles from the residual rush. Kurosaki touches his shoulder with a quiet question on the tip of his tongue. Uryuu shrinks from the contact and interrupts whatever meaningless drivel he intends to communicate.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Get out, Kurosaki.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A stunned silence lengthens until he says, “Ishida, I—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Just get the fuck out of my room!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">An eternity later, the door creaks open and clicks shut but Uryuu still can’t bring himself to move. He knows he needs to clean up, change clothes, and throw away his underwear for sure. Yet, when this moment ends another will begin, making it a permanent part of his past.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Knowing that this is just a blip on the radar for Kurosaki makes it all the more intolerable. He doesn’t give a damn about Uryuu. He only does these things out of spite and hormonal impulse. Uryuu is a captive toy, that’s all. The bastard just gets off on torturing and sullying an honest Christian. And he succeeded.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Late afternoon sunlight reflects off the running track and highlights the bright autumn foliage all around him. Crisp air cools the sweat from his skin but reddens the tip of his nose. The burn in his legs is mirrored in his lungs as he pushes himself to jog even faster. A group of students he lapped earlier circle into view ahead of him again. They give him odd looks as he passes but Uryuu isn’t trying to outrun <em>them</em>. He’s trying to outrun the noxious cloud of his own brooding thoughts.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He can’t take it anymore. Seeing Kurosaki in class day after day and pretending nothing happened. It got a little easier after the marks on his throat faded, but not by much. Uryuu has been spending a lot less time in the chapel lately. It doesn’t afford the same comfort and serenity as it used to now that his soul has been marred with such heady transgressions. Now that Kurosaki has even infiltrated his dreams.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The waiting is what’s really killing him. Kurosaki hasn’t so much as glanced his way in nearly two weeks. It is only a matter of time before he seeks Uryuu out again. Unless—dare he hope?—Kurosaki has become bored of him. He hates having mixed feelings about that when he should only feel <em>relief</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">At a signal from his physical education teacher, Uryuu jogs to a halt in front of her. Unagiya-sensei waits for him to catch his breath a bit and passes him a bottle of water.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Spectacular job out there today, Ishida-kun,” she enthusiastically cheers. “Are you sure I can’t get you to join the track team?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Respectfully, ma’am, I wouldn’t have the time.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hm, I suppose not. Kanonji mentioned you’re already taking university exam prep classes on top of the normal curriculum. Not that you’ll probably need it with a brain like yours.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A strategic sip of water masks his perturbed frown. “Do the other teachers talk about me often?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I guess so,” laughs Unagiya-sensei, “Ever since you magically brought Kurosaki to heel.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu twitches at the name. He screws the lid back on the bottle and holds it at his side. That way she won’t see how it shakes in his grip.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“My role in that miracle was small.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s not what I hear. In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d be willing to perform a second miracle for us.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What do you mean?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well, Kurosaki’s behavior is one issue but his grades are another. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that my class is the only one he’s passing right now.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">One of her eyebrows arches. “To phrase it bluntly, we were hoping you’d whip him into academic shape. At least enough to graduate. Nobody wants to deal with him for an extra year, especially if you won’t be here to keep him in check.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He rubs at a sudden pain stabbing between his eyes and searches for a polite yet convincing way to refuse without revealing anything.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You all seem to be under the misconception that Kurosaki and I are friends. We aren’t.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Come on,” she smiles, propping a hand on her hip. “You’re still playing that card? Nobody believes it, you know. With the way he stares at you in class all the time, you two must be pretty close. I don’t see the point in lying abo—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The hand drops as his head snaps up, “Wait. Kurosaki stares at me in class?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“According to Ochi, Kanonji, and even Kagine, yeah. He does. You weren’t aware of this?” Suspicion sifts into her demeanor to see the truth of it on his face. “Huh. Weird.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Weird’ doesn’t begin to cover it. There is no reason for that level of obsession unless Kurosaki is so focused on tormenting him that it is all he thinks about anymore. If that’s the case, why hasn’t he approached Uryuu again? He wants to ask how long this has been going on but Unagiya-sensei is too sharp to chance it. In fact, the sooner this conversation ends, the better.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I-I’ll see what I can do,” he vaguely agrees.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Glad to hear it! Go ahead and hit the showers a little early, kid. You earned it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Although he wanted to dismiss it, he dwelled on Unagiya-sensei’s news for the next few days following their discussion. Kurosaki still hasn’t come to him at night or spoken to him at school. He is torn between hoping it’s over and dreading reasons why the boy is staying away from him for so long. They don’t owe each other anything. They were never friends, sure as hell weren’t lovers in any positive sense of the word. But none of this makes sense.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Of course, curiosity gets the better of him and he starts sneaking glances of Kurosaki in class. Starting from homeroom this morning and culminating in his current occupation amid Kagine-sensei’s trademark monotone instruction. Amazingly, the teachers are right: Uryuu has caught the boy staring at him over a dozen times throughout the day in the classes they share. Each time scowling at being discovered.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Like adding drops to a bucket, Kurosaki’s irritation seems close to overflowing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Which is why Uryuu packs his books and darts out the door with as much poise as possible when the final bell rings. He still gets ambushed in the hall and dragged toward the nearest restroom. Kurosaki flips the lock and does a quick sweep to ensure the stalls are empty before rounding on him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why the fuck have you been looking at me all day?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I could ask you the same.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I asked you first.” Uryuu rolls his eyes at the childish reaction. “Answer me, Ishida!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, you answer me, Kurosaki! How long have you been staring at me in class?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He makes a face and counters with, “Who says I’ve been staring at you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, only <em>all of our teachers</em>.” Kurosaki won’t answer, won’t even meet his gaze now. The hush spreads until it becomes excruciating, until Uryuu fills it with what he really wants to know. “Why haven’t you…harassed me since that night? What are you waiting for?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Brown eyes flare and skip to blue. He is wearing the most idiotic expression, astounded and baffled.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I thought you—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki cuts himself off at the sound of someone at the door. Uryuu unlocks and opens it. Kagine-sensei stands hulking and uncertain in the narrow frame.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Uh…” their history teacher tries, glancing between the two students, “What’s going on here, Ishida-kun?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Just guiding a wayward lamb, Kagine-sensei.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Behind him, Kurosaki makes an affronted noise like he’s going to contradict that statement. A sharp glare over Uryuu’s shoulder averts catastrophe.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ah, I see…” The man smiles in understanding. Apparently his teachers really do gossip about them on a regular basis. “We knew we could count on you! Carry on.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Then he continues to one of the stalls. Uryuu vacates the bathroom without a backward glance. Kurosaki tags along, falling into step beside him. A distinct lack of people roaming the halls allows candid conversation on the way to the dorms.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What was with that ‘wayward lamb’ bullshit?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“A product of our teaching staff’s collective brilliance,” he sarcastically shares. “They were hoping I could make you improve your grades since we’re such good friends.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“They think we’re friends? You’re kidding.” Uryuu shrugs and Kurosaki snickers. “That’s…fucking hilarious.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Traversing the outdoor passageway to reach the east wing of his dormitory building, Uryuu starts to get antsy when the boy follows him rather than branch off toward his hall in the west.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well, I did do <em>such</em> a phenomenal job with your behavioral problems. Not to mention the staring—which you still haven’t explained, by the way.” Kurosaki clams right up at that, humor disintegrating like the dried leaves beneath their shoes. “At any rate, there’s certainly no way you could ever improve your marks whether empowered by my ‘friendship’ or not.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Fuck you, I could make top ten if I wanted.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Top ten? In your wildest dreams,” he sneers. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you prove it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They draw to a stop outside his door. Unwilling to unlock it yet, Uryuu crosses his arms and faces the boy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You must think I’m a real dunce to fall for that kind of petty manipulation.” Kurosaki leans against the wall and crowds into his personal space. “I could be <em>persuaded</em> to study, though. For the low, low price of a tiny edit to our terms.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The casual mention of their illicit agreement has Uryuu on red-alert. He peers up and down the hallway to make sure no one overheard. Hurriedly unlocking the door, he yanks Kurosaki inside before he can leak any more deadly secrets where anyone can be listening.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you referring to the contract you already broke—<em>twice</em>?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, that’s the one.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“And this ‘tiny edit’ would be…?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His eyes trail down Uryuu’s body and climb back up darkened with hunger. Kurosaki doesn’t leer and loom over him this time. He gazes directly at Uryuu with a serious expression and tone of voice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If you let me do all sorts of erotic things to you, I’ll start acing everything.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Although he anticipated something along those lines, hearing it aloud still shoots straight through his rib cage to clench around his heart like a cold fist. So, not only does Kurosaki want to move on from just kissing—as if that line hasn’t already been crossed—he also wants Uryuu’s compliance. No more fighting tooth-and-nail over every little touch. No more grousing like he hates every second of it. Kurosaki wants free access to a willing fuck-buddy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But where is Uryuu’s carrot? He doesn’t care about Kurosaki’s grades. It isn’t as if the teachers will punish him for the boy’s continued academic negligence. Why are they even talking about this?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ah, yes. Because he knows from experience that rejecting his offer won’t be the end of it. Kurosaki has chosen to pursue him, for whatever reason. If the threat of expulsion isn’t incentive enough, he will find another way to force Uryuu’s cooperation. At least this way he can maintain the pretense of autonomy. If he accepts the proposal, he is not Kurosaki’s slave but his <em>prize</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Plus, if Kurosaki can’t boost his grades, Uryuu has an easy-out. And he really doesn’t think Kurosaki has the wits to ace a pop quiz, much less raise his dismal rank from the pit into which he has let it sink. Uryuu regards the boy, who is patiently waiting for his response.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“All right, Kurosaki. I’ll do it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He gapes. “What—seriously!?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Only on the condition that under <em>no</em> circumstance may you <em>ever </em> put your dick anywhere near my ass. If you try, I will beat you half to death and have you arrested for rape.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Okay,” he firmly nods, “Yeah, that’s reasonable. I have a condition, too.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“The entire agreement is composed of your conditions!” objects Uryuu.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“This one’s simple, I promise.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What is it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“We have to study together, and you’ll tutor me if I ask for help.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Well, he wasn’t expecting that addendum. Sounds like a lot of hassle for little reward but he’s tired of arguing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Fine.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Awesome. Now, because I’m such a great guy, I’ll leave it up to you which we do first every day: study or sex.” Uryuu’s eyes widen on the words ‘every day’. Call him naive, but he really wasn’t thinking they would be that <em>active</em>. “So, which do you want to do?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki drops the loaded question on him like a bomb as he sets his school bag on the floor and removes his uniform jacket. Uryuu’s pulse doubles as he watches him unbutton the white dress shirt and shrug out of it. They’re going to get right to it? Right this moment? Having stripped to his usual brand of loud t-shirt, Kurosaki stands there looking at him as if to silently repeat, <em>study or sex</em>? Uryuu thinks it would be nice if he could say study, then more studying and skip the sex. No doubt Kurosaki would prefer the opposite.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Glancing at the stack of books on his desk, he wonders if he could even absorb anything with the prospect of sex <em>later</em> hanging over his head.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He lets his eyes fall closed on a sigh as he reaches up to undo the first button on his jacket. Kurosaki astutely interprets this as a green light and gets rid of his glasses before guiding him in for a kiss. It already feels so different this time. Lighter. Less distressing. Uryuu has to remind himself that this isn’t okay for a lot of reasons and he still shouldn’t enjoy it. Doesn’t stop his blood from rushing when Kurosaki hastily pushes the jacket from his shoulders and loosens the tie at his throat while they kiss.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki, s-slow down.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Really? I’m surprised you want to take it slow, Ishida. Figured you’d want to get it over with as fast as possible.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That shuts him right up. He lets Kurosaki push him to the bed and reinitiate a deep kiss. Uryuu knows he has agreed to act like a willing participant, but that doesn’t mean he has to act like he <em>loves</em> it. His nails drag harshly down the sensitive backs of Kurosaki’s upper arms for the hell of it. Making an aggressive sound, he tugs Uryuu’s hair and nips at his ear before licking away the sting. It really shouldn’t feel so good that he breathes a short, loud whine. But it definitely does and a few seconds later the wall bordering his bed is thundering with an annoyed knocking from the other side.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Keep it down, lame-ass egghead</em>!” can be heard dimly from his neighbor’s room.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki tenses, then pushes up to yell, “Hey, shut the fuck up before I—!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Covering his mouth with both hands, he urgently hisses, “<em>You</em> shut up, Kurosaki! No one can find out that you’re here!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“But that asshole insulted you,” he removes silencing hands to avidly argue. “No one gets to pick on you but me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu has no response to that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When Kurosaki goes back to kissing his neck, Uryuu is still reeling from the fact that he has been protected twice now by the boy. And in a weirdly sweet way, though Kurosaki probably doesn’t realize it himself. Uryuu promptly pushes him away.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“On second thought, maybe we should wait until later tonight. If everyone is asleep, we’ll be less likely to get caught.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Easing off with a frown, Kurosaki clearly doesn’t approve of the schedule change but he gets up to grab his bag anyway. Uryuu relocates to his desk while his visitor dumps his school things onto the mattress and makes himself cozy for an extended study session. Kurosaki cracks open a book and huffs a quiet sigh as he settles in to start reading.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Their eyes meet across the crowded cafeteria and Uryuu’s breath catches. Even at this distance, he knows that look very well. It’s the one that warns him Kurosaki is feeling particularly eager to see him later tonight. He must have been watching Uryuu in class again today. Earlier this week, he finally admitted to indulging that same habit more than is safe for his sanity. It probably doesn’t help that Uryuu happens to be eating a cup of coconut yogurt rather slowly—idly licking the spoon much cleaner than necessary—due to preoccupation with a textbook in his lap.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He lowers his utensil and breaks eye contact with the boy, fighting a flush for being caught doing something unintentionally indecent. Again.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">According to Kurosaki, everything he does is sexy. From the way he clears his throat before speaking in class, to the way he sits primly upon the pew during mass, to the stilted way he breathes when he is desperately trying to control his moaning. Although Uryuu would prefer not to exude these crassly dubbed ‘molest-me vibes’ all the time, at least he finally understands why Kurosaki refuses to leave him alone.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He shuts his book, gathers his trash, and stands to vacate the table. Pausing by the double doors to toss his empty packaging, Uryuu makes the mistake of glancing toward the object of his thoughts one more time. Kurosaki is still staring at him. His expression decrees that he is utterly unhappy with his current dinner companions and he would like nothing better than to chase after Uryuu for a rough shag against the hallway wall right this instant, secrecy be damned!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Thankfully, Kurosaki doesn’t compromise cover to follow him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">On the way back to the dorms, Uryuu briefly contemplates stopping in at the chapel for a quick bout of penitent prayer but decides against it. Since legitimizing this affair in his own mind to the extent that it doesn’t tear him apart every time he thinks about Kurosaki, it is becoming increasingly difficult to justify his presence in God’s holy dominion. That hallowed haven is effectively off-limits for him now. He makes a quick stop at his room and then wanders into the bathroom for a shower.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His academia-laden desk awaits when he returns. Uryuu studies for a couple of hours until his clock hits double digits and the lights go out in the hall. He sets down his pen, clicks off his desk lamp, and goes to unlock the door before slipping between his sheets. His eyes slide shut and Uryuu wonders if he will luck out this time. Maybe he misinterpreted Kurosaki’s expression and he won’t visit tonight. Except there is a niggling disappointment alongside the notion that makes his face burn with humiliation.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Over a month ago, Uryuu never would have imagined getting to the point that fooling around with his nemesis would be the highlight of his day. But is Kurosaki really his nemesis? Now that they have been adhering to the new agreement for a little while, he isn’t sure. He is still deeply ashamed of what they are doing but he can’t sincerely say he doesn’t also enjoy it on some level. All right, that is an egregious understatement but even in the privacy of his own head Uryuu can’t openly admit his true feelings on the matter.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He stares at the insides of his eyelids and pretends he isn’t waiting up for Kurosaki.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A gentle tapping on the door has his eyes snapping open. Uryuu doesn’t respond to the knock; he isn’t meant to because this is their routine. Whether Kurosaki is sneaking into his room or vice versa, the methods never change. A shift in air pressure signals a stealthy entrance and Uryuu scoots over to let his guest crawl into bed with him. Kurosaki goes straight for a kiss but he is denied.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“How did you do on the geography exam?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I aced it,” brags the boy with a smirk, “Like I’ve been acing everything for the past two weeks.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Show me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Grumbling under his breath, Kurosaki gets up to fetch a sheet of paper from his abandoned bag. He flicks on Uryuu’s desk lamp and brings the test over to showcase its high grade. It might not be Kurosaki’s favorite kind of red circled ‘A’, but he has been owning it as promised nonetheless. He lets it flutter to the floor and dives in for a kiss that Uryuu allows the second time around. Kurosaki doesn’t linger there long, opting to push up his shirt and kiss his way down a slender stomach. His fingers curl around the elastic of his boxers and Uryuu stops them with a death grip and a grunt of dismay.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Sorry,” Kurosaki leans back to say, “Almost forgot.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He rises to grab a clean wash cloth from a folded stack atop the dresser. Then he rolls it up and fits it between Uryuu’s teeth. Because both of them know by now how bad he is at controlling his noises, they have to take certain precautions if Kurosaki wants to do certain things to him. Things that feel so good Uryuu will lose all attempts at a filter and moan loudly enough to alert everyone on the floor. Which has almost happened twice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Climbing back into position, Kurosaki wastes no time tugging his underwear down and getting straight to work. Uryuu reaches up to grip the wooden bars of his head rest so he won’t push his fingers into orange locks instead. He thinks of how the boy must have been fantasizing about doing this to him all day for him to be this fervent in his actions. The hold on his hips tightens as control starts to slip. Kurosaki never seems to mind his excited little thrusts, though. If anything, Uryuu suspects the implication behind the movement turns him on even more. Especially when his breathing goes ragged through the makeshift gag in penultimate pleasure.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But Kurosaki eases off just in time, proclaiming, “I can’t wait anymore, Ishida. I want to come across your stomach. Can I?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu gives nonverbal consent with a nod and watches him shove his pants out of the way to enfold his erection in a sliding fist. Despite having seen it several times now, he has never touched it. Kurosaki hasn’t asked him to, either. The focus is always on teasing, exciting, playing with Uryuu until a limit is reached and one of them trips over the edge, more often than not dragging the other along, too. Just as he very nearly does now, seeing Kurosaki tense up and bite his lip as he paints the flesh of Uryuu’s belly in hot, sticky lines.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Sinking to lie mostly on top of him, Kurosaki removes the cloth and kisses him with a slow, simmering desire that only serves to make Uryuu burn hotter. He shifts restlessly beneath the boy, reminding him that he still needs another kind of attention elsewhere. But this time Kurosaki does linger, deliberately and with evident amusement at his frustration. Uryuu breaks the kiss to speak and his neck is instantly attacked.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki,” he grits through a fierce spike of pleasure instigated by the pinch of teeth, “Hurry up!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yet, now he is content to adopt a leisurely pace when he wasn’t before. He meanders slowly down Uryuu’s body, tasting and touching here or there as he deems fit. Kurosaki pushes the gag back into his mouth and dives down to lap at his erection. The noises start back up as Uryuu is teased but not quite sated. One of his knees is bent and moved toward his chest. A hint of trepidation tingles down his back.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They haven’t been doing this long but he doesn’t believe Kurosaki will break the cardinal rule. He knows Uryuu would never forgive him if he tried. So, when Kurosaki’s fingers drift down his sac to nudge lower, he stiffens but does not panic. His trust is rewarded in a most miraculous way. Uryuu screams into the muffling cloth as his spine snaps into a taut arc because a bit of pressure below and a lot of suction above fling him into the most intense climax he has ever endured.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes eons to settle back into himself from that glowing dimension. Once he does, the first thing he notices is Kurosaki gently cleaning him up with the former gag, dampened courtesy of a cup of water from his bedside table. The boy is lying beside him and pressing loose kisses to the curve of his shoulder in a sharply endearing manner. Uryuu rolls to his side in part to see him clearly, and in part to impede those strange kisses.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What was that?” he incredulously asks Kurosaki. “What did you <em>do</em> to me?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He snickers at Uryuu’s annoyed expression. “Is it so shocking that I know something about your body you don’t?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Where did you learn it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Would it bother you to hear that I’ve been with other guys before?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Of course not.” His eyes leave Kurosaki’s on the fib, “Why should I care? It’s not like I could be jealous if we’re not even dating.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The humor fades from his face at Uryuu’s harsh assertion. Well, it’s the truth; they aren’t dating. Aside from these regular clandestine trysts and obligatory study sessions, they don’t directly interact with each other at all. They don’t talk about their lives or their pasts. They don’t act cute or affectionate. This isn’t a <em>relationship</em> and they are both fully aware of that fact.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Still, Kurosaki looks almost disappointed as he gets up to fix his clothes and grab his school bag. He doesn’t glance back at Uryuu or offer a farewell before departing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The final bell tolls and Uryuu hurries to jot down a few more notes that might turn up on the quiz next week. Can’t be too careful. He is one of the last students to rise and head for the door. Kagine-sensei calls out to him as he approaches the man’s desk. Uryuu stops before it and readjusts the strap of his bag to rest across his chest rather than over his shoulder.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Sir?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I have some news, Ishida-kun.” After a dramatic pause, he somberly notifies, “The other teachers and I have noticed a remarkable uptick in Kurosaki-kun’s grades over the past few weeks.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Then…perhaps you meant to have this conversation with him?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Giving him a conspiratorial wink, the teacher says, “We know you’re the one behind it, but don’t worry! The other students haven’t caught wind of your amazing tutoring abilities, so they shouldn’t be breaking down your door for similar help anytime soon.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It really isn’t what you seem to think. Kurosaki is actually—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“There’s that modesty again,” Kagine-sensei warmly chuckles. “But the truth is you’ve done the impossible. You’ve taken one of our very worst and turned him into an A-student virtually overnight! We just can’t thank you enough. Which is why we’ve hatched a plot to reward your efforts.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Sliding open a drawer, he produces a certificate and passes it to Uryuu. A large number is emblazoned across the front, along with the word ‘scholarship’, and his eyes widen to ascertain its significance.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Sir, I can’t accept such generosity. Not for something like this…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He tries to pass it back but Kagine shakes his head and declares, “Turning it down only proves how much you deserve it, son. You’ve taken a weight off all our shoulders by taking an interest in reforming Kurosaki-kun. Even the headmaster is grateful! So, please, take it with our sincere regards.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Once again, his teachers are operating under a flagrant misunderstanding about the nature of his and Kurosaki’s relationship. Nearly every assumption they’ve made is erroneous, chiefly that he is actively tutoring the boy. Admittedly, Uryuu originally assumed that would be the case but when they study together, Kurosaki seldom asks for clarification and mostly studies on his own. More so now that he has gotten caught up with the rest of the class.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu might be just a tad biased but he is of the firm opinion that Kurosaki is not stupid at all. He likes to pretend he is, that he could care less about something as mundane as <em>learning</em> but he has a natural aptitude for it. Probably not genius level, but more than enough to handle a normal high school course load and then some. All Uryuu does is serve as encouragement, a physical incentive to try and succeed when Kurosaki simply didn’t care before.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Therefore, being granted money for his ‘efforts’ in this scenario makes Uryuu feel akin to a prostitute. Albeit an expensive one.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I am also grateful, but I cannot accept this.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Technically, you already have. The funds were deposited from the school’s bursar into your account this morning.” The teacher takes no offense to Uryuu’s astonishment. He laughs and adds, “Nothing wrong with a little extra spending-money, eh?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, but Kagine-sensei, I—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“All right, you’ve made your point,” he assures Uryuu with a smile, standing to usher him toward the exit. “I’ll be sure to tell the staff how humbled you were!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kagine-sensei gives a little wave and shuts the door against further protests. Uryuu stands in the hall staring at nothing as he struggles to integrate what just happened. On one hand, he now has access to more funds than he knows what to do with. On the other hand, his teachers just unwittingly paid him for sleeping with Kurosaki. How is this what his life has become?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He starts to shuffle down the hall toward his dorm after a moment. A couple of classrooms down, he finally registers the footsteps unevenly echoing his own. Uryuu halts and speaks without bothering to turn around, easily guessing who must have chosen to wait up for him after class.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now, Kurosaki. Can’t it wait until later tonight?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“So, it’s true!” Panic sears in his veins to hear the wrong voice respond. “You and Ichigo <em>have</em> been hanging out?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Turning slowly, he spots one of Kurosaki’s usual lackeys, Asano Keigo, standing a few meters away. The boy strides closer, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Uryuu swallows nervously and puts on his best stoic mask. Even though he figures it’s too late to do damage control after that foolhardy slip, he has to try.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Y-you’re wrong. We haven’t—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t bother denying it. I saw Ichigo’s history quiz today and there’s no way he passed it on his own. It all makes sense now: you’ve been tutoring him!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu relaxes marginally. This conjecture, at least, is the lesser of a much greater evil. Better to let Asano think their involvement ends there than hint at the more sinister reality. So much for Kagine’s guarantee that the other students remain ignorant on this subject.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Fine, I won’t deny it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I knew it!” Pacing closer, Asano’s expression changes completely as he begs, “Tutor me, too, Ishida.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What!?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If you managed to cram a bunch of knowledge through Ichigo’s thick skull, you can do the same for me. I’m even dumber than he is and my parents will murder me if I don’t graduate this year!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You didn’t even consider it,” he sullenly accuses. “Listen, I’ll pay you. Okay? Whatever you want. I have an allowance and it’s yours if you’ll just—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I said <em>no</em>, Asano-san. Stop asking.” Pivoting on his heel to escape, Uryuu scowls when the boy moves to block his path. “Get out of my way. I already said I won’t tutor you, so—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why not? What’s one more if you’re already teaching Ichigo?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Not by choice!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The admission is out of his mouth before he realizes the ramifications. Asano’s eyebrows bunch quizzically as he prepares to ask a dangerous question. Rather than deal with it, Uryuu pushes past him and marches away at a clipped pace.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The following Saturday, a string of appalling incidents occurs.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The day starts out innocently enough. Uryuu walks into town to the quaint collection of Main Street shops, restaurants, and boutiques that always provide a focal point for academy students on leave from campus restriction. Aside from Sunday mass, the weekends are the only times they are permitted to step foot off hallowed grounds. Most of his peers use the opportunity for socialization in one form or another, but Uryuu merely does his routine shopping.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Which is how he winds up in a small bookstore nestled between a barber shop and a café searching for a supplementary physiology textbook. Nothing against his school’s selection but even the senior-level editions are a bit lacking for his purposes. Of course, in spite of best efforts he would still run into Kurosaki there. He is just lucky that way.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Minding his own business in a dark corner near the back, the noticeable teen stands out more than usual in punk-inspired attire that suggests he’ll be on his way to a mosh pit any minute. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Uryuu almost admits those tight, shredded jeans are quite flattering on him. Then he tears his eyes from the shapely outline of a denim-clad ass and swerves to duck behind a broad bookshelf as Kurosaki starts to turn in his direction.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He immediately feels like a fool for the cowardly feint. After all, it was only last night that they were both naked in his room and—on second thought, the sultry memory is better left undisturbed. Point is there is no reason to hide like a blushing schoolboy, whether or not that is exactly what he resembles at the moment. Uryuu surreptitiously watches him slip a short book from the row and isn’t surprised to note it is an issue of manga. Not just any manga, but Kurosaki’s favorite kind. Its cover features a bold red ‘R-18’ stamped on the tantalizing cover.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Steeling his courage, Uryuu abandons his hideout, squares his shoulders, and strides right up to him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’ve been suspicious all along but now I see the truth: you really are an incorrigible nymphomaniac.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki’s raised eyebrows lower as he smirks, not bothering to deny the claim. “Where do you think I get my inspiration? Or did you assume I’m naturally that good between the sheets?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, I just figured you were a slut before I met you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The comment is crafted to cut, but if anything his humor is bolstered by it. He leans closer to Uryuu and tugs playfully at a sleek lock of hair.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Still thinking about last week, I see. Were you hoping that anatomy book could teach you what I did to blow your mind? I’ll let you in on the secret if you ask nicely.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Frowning reflexively, he bats Kurosaki’s hand away from his hair and tucks the book further behind himself, out of sight. “It’s physiology, not anatomy, and for your information I’ve already learned how you…did <em>that</em> to me. You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll ever ask you for anything!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hmm, you say that but I seem to recall the other night you practically <em>begged</em> me to—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A hand clamps over his big mouth and Uryuu hisses, “Shut up! I did not beg, I would never!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki snickers beneath the seal of his palm but doesn’t press the issue further. Instead, he takes hold of that slender wrist and sucks one of Uryuu’s fingers into his mouth. He makes a startled sound and withdraws the captive appendage, shooting glances around the shop for onlookers. Fortunately, no one else is within range but he glares at the boy nonetheless and mutters something about sanitation and propriety.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Watch it, Ishida,” he teasingly warns, “If you keep blushing like that, I might end up dragging you into the alley to see how much of your skin it covers.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">While the threat is innately idle, Uryuu would rather not take chances. He snaps, “Try it, if you’re itching for some new bruises.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Speaking of, I see that hickey I gave you last night developed well.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He clamps a hand over the spot on his neck he noticed this morning. The one his scarf is still covering. That bastard! Kurosaki laughs at his own ploy so Uryuu has no choice but to get him back.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What are you doing with that doujinshi in the first place? Even dressed like that, you won’t pass for an adult! Do you think the shopkeeper will sell to a minor?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hate to break it to you, but I am an adult as of last summer.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>What</em>?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Reaching into his back pocket, Kurosaki flips open his wallet with a clink of its heavy chain and flashes the ID for him to read. Calculating his age from the listed birth year only takes a second and Uryuu feels his features shift in shock because it wasn’t a lie. He really <em>is</em> eighteen.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I was held back my second year of middle school. Too many suspensions.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Well, that much isn’t inconceivable. He stares hard at Kurosaki, wanting to label him a pedophile for the hell of it. Though, to be fair, the age of consent is actually sixteen and Uryuu isn’t about to nitpick over technicalities when the larger picture is still much more troubling. Law and political correctness aside, <em>God</em> condemns them for what they are doing if only because they are both men. A fact that continues to plague him every single day.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The hue of his mood bleeds black and he doesn’t have any fight left over to banter with Kurosaki anymore.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well, have fun with your tawdry manga. I have more shopping to do, so…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu starts to walk away but the shift of clothing and rattle of chain indicates his tail.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hey, it doesn’t bother you that much, does it? You’ll be eighteen soon, right?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“In a couple of weeks,” he shrugs as he heads for the cash register. “I don’t care how old you are. Makes no difference in the scheme of things.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What is that supposed to mean?” No response is offered. He’s too concerned with quickly paying for his book to pay heed of Kurosaki’s meddlesome questions. “Now that we’re on that topic, when is your birthday?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The clerk eyes them in passive curiosity before counting the bills Uryuu hands her for his textbook. He conceals a nervous twitch at the invasive query reasonably well. The register dings an instant too late to serve as alibi.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“None of your business, Kurosaki.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Come on, Ishida,” he groans as the change and receipt are handed back. “Is it so hard to believe I want to know my boyfriend’s birthday?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The world narrows, stifles, <em>burns</em> around Uryuu. His lungs seize and his eyes flare. Even the cashier makes an astonished noise in the wake of that audacious tidbit. She was in the process of bagging his purchase and paused with a rough crinkle of brown paper. Clearing her throat, she completes the service and slides the book across the counter without a word. Doesn’t stop her gaze from bouncing avidly between them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu kick starts himself into motion toward the exit. Kurosaki is hot on his heels.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I cannot <em>believe</em> you embarrassed me like that,” he fumes the second they hit the sidewalk.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s what you get for being stubborn. Hurry up and tell me your birthday before I start screaming ‘Ishida is my gay lover’ from the rooftops.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s November sixth,” Uryuu grits for lack of a better alternative. “Now, stop following me!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki doesn’t stop following him. He tags along for the haircut Uryuu gets next door, jabbering throughout from the vacant chair across from him. The barber wears a mildly intrigued expression but keeps any opinions to himself. After his trim, the pharmacy on the corner is perused and Kurosaki sticks to his side as his short list of sundries is crossed out one item at a time. It is all relatively cordial, considering. Yet, it is also bordering on ‘friendly’ and that makes Uryuu exceedingly uncomfortable.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You should try this shampoo. I think you’d like it.” Holding it out with the cap open for easy sniffing, he blinks when Uryuu fixes him with a flat glare. “What? It’s minty. You like mint.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t you have anything better to do than buzz around me like a confused bee?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“In that analogy, are you my flower?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A short growl communicates what he thinks of that extrapolation. “Get lost!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The shampoo bottle is crookedly dumped on the shelf in favor of chasing him to the checkout stand. Kurosaki lapses into uncharacteristic quietude as they wait in line, pay, and leave. It is only once they are back outside that he pipes up with a change of subject.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you hungry? We should eat somewhere before walking back to the dorms.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not wasting money on fast food when I can have dinner in the cafeteria for free.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’ll pay.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That more than anything has Uryuu halting in uncertainty. Kurosaki may be generous in bed but he is never this generous in their daily lives. First the ‘boyfriend’ remark and now this? Something strange is going on in that spiky orange head of his. He arches an inquisitive eyebrow under Uryuu’s speechless scrutiny. So, he wants to act like this is normal? As if!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki, you—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If it isn’t our long lost pal, Ichigo.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A quartet of the miscreant’s usual gang converges on them from across the street. He glumly notes Asano is among them. Ever since his failed attempt at employing Uryuu as tutor, he has been dreading a confrontation. Although he’d hoped Asano and Kurosaki would hash it out on their own, he knows he isn’t that blessed. For him to have met Kurosaki at all proves God probably detests him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“We were starting to think you’d gone the way of the dinosaurs,” one of them quips, “And here you are being pestered by the top-nerd himself.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’ve got it backwards,” mutters Uryuu, adjusting slipping glasses.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No one asked you, Super-Dork!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t talk to him like that.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It is said softly and with a barely perceptible veneer of anger. All four of Kurosaki’s friends gape at him for it. Uryuu can’t resist adopting their example and he swallows to note the dark look in his rival-turned-lover’s eyes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Okay, quit playing around, Ichigo.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, ditch this loser and let’s go bowling or something.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki takes a confrontational step forward and states, “I told you to watch your mouth, didn’t I? The next guy to insult Ishida is getting a knot on the back of his skull.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The confounded hush drags longer the second time around.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What’s gotten into you?” Asano finally chimes in. “Since when are you sticking up for your sworn enemy? We used to take shots at him all the time!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That was before the truce,” he tells Uryuu over his shoulder. Then, returning his attention to them, “Things change. I don’t want anyone bad-mouthing him anymore. Is that clear?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t need you to protect me, Kurosaki! Let them say what they want, I don’t care.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well, I do. It pisses me off and I’m not putting up with it anymore.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Aren’t you taking this joke too far?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s not funny anymore!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Do I look like I’m laughing?” demands Kurosaki, scowl deepening. “Ishida and I have plans, so go bowling without me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">With that, he takes hold of the arm unfettered by shopping bags and guides Uryuu away from his fuming friends. Asano won’t let it go that easily.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Nobody would go to this extent for a tutor. Are…are you two <em>friends</em> now?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Of course not!” snaps Uryuu, tearing free of the other’s clutches. “How could you possibly think we—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah,” Kurosaki resolutely confirms, “We are. Any complaints?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When none are forthcoming, he grabs Uryuu’s wrist too tightly to elude. The flabbergasted classmates don’t stop them twice.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">A perfect circle punctuates the last sentence in his essay. Uryuu doesn’t need to read over it again to know it is error-free but he does anyway. His mechanical pencil is slowly eased to lie atop the kanji-coated page. Now that the last piece of his homework is finished, he has no choice but to face what comes after. Kurosaki completed his half an hour ago and has since taken to reading a novel he swiped from Uryuu’s room three days prior. He is indolently sprawled out with an arm tucked under his head and one leg flopped over the side of the bed, toe absently tapping the floor at irregular intervals.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The sinuous stretch of his body does things to Uryuu’s—things he doesn’t want to acknowledge, much less act on. As usual, he is waiting for Kurosaki to pounce. Far be it for him to make the first move for a change! No, that would be admitting that he wants it. That he revels in the heat and pleasure and thrill such activities elicit. Because he doesn’t. Why would he?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki scratches his belly, displacing the shirt, and leaves a sliver of skin exposed. The tip of Uryuu’s tongue flicks against the roof of his mouth, eager to taste.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He shakes his head to clear the mental Etch-a-Sketch drawing dirty pictures inside it. The chair swivels to let him face the desk, face away from Kurosaki’s tempting expanse of masculine glory. Oh, goodness, now he’s succumbing to cheesy poetic descriptions! Hastily gathering up his schoolwork knocks an empty to-go container from the edge of the desk. It smacks onto the floor, spilling chopsticks and bits of rice on impact. Yes, Uryuu was coerced to stop for fast food. Kurosaki paid. It was delicious and he resented every bite.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Before he can leave his seat to clean up the minor mess, the room’s permanent occupant is bending to take care of it. Uryuu watches him drop the trash into a small can and purses his lips against an automatic word of thanks. He won’t say it. Not when Kurosaki is approaching him at last and there can be only one objective in his mind with study-time out of the way. Moving to stand behind Uryuu, he puts hands to shoulders and kneads the knotted muscles there.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’re so tense, Ishida,” he quietly observes. “You look tired, too. Did you stay up after I left last night?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He did, but that had nothing to do with Kurosaki. It was an email he got from his father that implied he would be expecting Uryuu home for fall break at the beginning of next month. Unwilling to visit Ryuuken at the best of times, he isn’t ready to deal with the disdainful man when his heart has been in such crushing turmoil for the past several weeks. <em>That</em> has everything to do with Kurosaki.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Of course I’m tense after the stunt you pulled earlier! Why would you tell your minions that we’re <em>friends</em>?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The kneading stops and he rotates the chair to stare down at Uryuu. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just listen to them harp on you like that!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That is exactly what you were supposed to do! What if they figure out what’s really going on between us?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t give a fuck what those dipshits think. All they do is gossip and gripe and put everyone down. Keigo is the only decent guy among them and even he would rather goof off than do anything interesting most of the time. You’re more fun than all those idiots combined.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Blue eyes attain an icy cast as he contemplates the word ‘fun’ in context. Just because Uryuu is an easy lay for him doesn’t mean he wants to be compared with that bunch of ruffians! There is zero chance Kurosaki would spend a single second with him if they weren’t fooling around. He doesn’t understand the boy’s new attitude toward his own buddies’ archetypal dislike of Uryuu. They are jocks and rebels while he is a geek. It makes sense that they clash. What doesn’t make sense is how Kurosaki has lost sight of this fact.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Preparing to re-explain it to him, Uryuu balks at the expression he wears because it almost seems—well, if he didn’t know better he’d say Kurosaki looks a little hurt for being yelled at. It makes him reconsider his phrasing, but not his intent.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Whether or not you care what they think, <em>I</em> do not want them spreading rumors about us. If that means you have to hear them calling me every nasty name under the sun, then that’s what you will do. Otherwise, this arrangement can’t continue. I won’t risk my father’s suspicion even if it means expulsion.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki’s defensive irritation abates as he sinks to a crouch in front of him. “Your dad doesn’t know about you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Doesn’t know <em>what</em> about me?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That you like boys.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">No shame, that one. Uryuu cringes lightly and looks away. He has never really discussed his home life with Kurosaki, and vice versa. Of course he wouldn’t know the first thing about the intrinsic expectations, pride, and resentment involved with being an Ishida.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“He remains blissfully unaware that his only child is into sodomy.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t say that,” Kurosaki gently chastises. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing wrong with being gay? Do you really think God gives a crap who we love? The Bible is just a spiteful heap of propaganda!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not debating theology with a professed atheist,” he stiffly replies. “I don’t preach at you, so why can’t you pay me the same respect?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Because it makes you hate yourself!” A jolt of alarm at his volume has Uryuu scowling harder. In a prudently lowered voice, Kurosaki adds, “Any religion that can make you feel bad about the way you were born is bullshit. That’s all I’m trying to say.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There is too much emotion in his eyes. It steals Uryuu’s scathing rebuttal and sets him fidgeting with a tiny crack in the plastic armrest. More and more often, Kurosaki is acting like he <em>cares</em>. It is absurd and scary and painful. They weren’t meant to become like this. It was supposed to stay physical, meaningless. Rather than having impromptu heart-to-hearts, Uryuu prefers uncomplicated sex. At least then he doesn’t have to think too deeply about anything.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And he can go on hating himself in peace.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t know what Kurosaki is waiting for. So, he leans forward and begins the evening’s session with an insistent kiss. The boy makes a surprised sound before happily returning it. He shifts to his knees and fits snugly between Uryuu’s, reaching up to pull him closer. Their uneven angle is not severe but it is enough to feel weird. Usually, Kurosaki is the one on top—dominating, controlling—and Uryuu lets him have that so he can lie to himself about how much he wants this. But between initiating the embrace and claiming the leverage, he feels <em>empowered</em>. It is dizzying rush and disconcerting repression at the same time. He presses at the point of Kurosaki’s chin and pushes his tongue inside like he has done to Uryuu countless times.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The aggressive action has Kurosaki moaning into the kiss like he loves it, hand gripping tighter to the back of Uryuu’s neck. He is waiting for Kurosaki to go for his zipper or jump up and toss him into bed, but he doesn’t. After a few moments of making out, he breaks contact and gazes at Uryuu with about half his normal amount of wild lust. Kurosaki pets dark hair from his face and smiles. Then he stands and goes to put his phone on charge.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What are you doing?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Getting ready for bed. It’s late and I wasn’t kidding about you looking worn out. We may not have class tomorrow but they’ll chuck us back in detention if we miss Sunday mass, which means no sleeping in.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It takes a minute for it to sink in. Kurosaki is foregoing sex so Uryuu can get more sleep? No, he can’t abide the connotations of his consideration. Hell no! He rises from the desk chair and opens the closet to snatch a clean towel and Kurosaki’s shower caddy. Wordless incomprehension is directed Uryuu’s way as he closes that door and opens the one leading into the hall.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Meet me in the shower in five minutes.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“In the sh—<em>What</em>? Ishida, wait!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t wait. The darkened hall is deserted, the bathroom is empty, and all the shower stalls are up for grabs. Uryuu picks one at random and starts the water warming while he methodically strips, folding each article as it is removed. By the time he steps under the spray, Kurosaki’s footsteps are echoing through the wide room. He gives a hesitant call of Uryuu’s name, just in case.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hurry up and get naked before I change my mind about this.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They’ve never done it in the shower. Never done anything outside of their bedrooms. Uryuu isn’t immune to the adventurous aspect of it, though the risk of getting caught isn’t exciting so much as terrifying. He tips his head back to wet his hair and decides he’ll deal with that if it happens but worrying won’t change a thing. The decision has already been made.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Are you crazy? We can’t…” Every last word of protest is lost as Kurosaki yanks back the curtain and spies him under the steaming spray, flushed from the heat and half-hard with anticipation. “Oh, <em>shiiit</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu moves in for the kill, tugging him into a kiss and attacking his outfit. Kurosaki groans and starts wriggling out of his clothes like they’ve been dipped in acid. Uryuu would laugh at the dichotomy of folded fabric on the bench and shed articles all over the tiles but Kurosaki is kissing all his breath away. Here is the full-blown wild lust he is used to.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As if sensing Uryuu’s thoughts, he gradually begins to calm, even pulling away long enough for a serious look. Kurosaki leans back in for another, much slower kind of kiss. It makes a statement that Uryuu doesn’t want to interpret.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Soap,” he slips free to advise.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki bends to snag a bottle from his shower caddy and says, “Shampoo first.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Which is how Uryuu ends up with fingertips scrubbing soothingly against his scalp. Kurosaki stares at him the entire time. It’s so intimate he wants to puke. But when it’s his turn to repay the favor, he does, and kisses the maudlin moron to remind him why they are there. It gets easier once they break out the body wash. All slick skin, fierce tongues, short moans, and searching hands. Uryuu reaches down to pump him invitingly and Kurosaki’s self-imposed restraint is heavily taxed.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He flips Uryuu around to brace against the wall and shallowly thrusts between the swell of his cheeks. Kurosaki’s grip at his hips tightens desperately as he does it again, and again. So close to what he really wants but not quite. He has done this before, once or twice. Uryuu knows how much Kurosaki wants to fuck him. How could he not? He has never asked for permission or spoken about it at all, which is why Uryuu grants him these minor indiscretions. Bears them without complaint. Plus, he isn’t exactly turned off by the wanton display of raw <em>need</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki,” he pants over his shoulder, “Rinse.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">An affirmative grunt is the response, and he lets go so the pouring water can do its work. As soon as the last sud of soap is spiraling down the drain, Uryuu guides him to lean against the wall and lowers to his knees at Kurosaki’s feet. Brown eyes widen on a sharp gasp as he catches on.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Y-you don’t have to—<em>Nnnh</em>!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu shuts him up with a firm grip and a light lick. He has never touched Kurosaki’s dick before, much less tasted it. Part of him is fascinated. Part of him is nervous. Part of him wants to swallow it down just to hear the shocked shout. Uryuu handles it tentatively. Takes it one kiss, one lap, one stroke at a time. By the time he gets around to sucking on the head, Kurosaki’s composure is in shambles. He is clinging to the edge of the stall above his stupidly tall body in lieu of pushing his hands into wet hair. Uryuu appreciates the view so much he hums approvingly around the length between his lips.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki curses loudly, bumps his head on the plastic wall, and <em>shudders</em>. His reaction is immensely enjoyable and Uryuu’s own erection gives a kindred twitch. He eases more of Kurosaki into his mouth and rolls his tongue along the ridge of a thick vein. The cursing becomes a litany, and leaps up an octave. Forcing his eyes open, he looks down—and quickly snaps them shut again on his loudest moan yet.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His breathing is a wreck. Lower lip reddened by the blunt pressure of his teeth. Uryuu envies that lip, thinking it has been too long since Kurosaki bit him. He doesn’t remember when that stopped being a regular occurrence but he misses it. Misses the marks on his flesh that lingered for days. A single hickey on his neck isn’t enough. He wants those bruises back, wants to feel like he got them doing something against his will.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu doesn’t realize he has started touching himself until Kurosaki notices it, too. He releases a low, keening whine and hauls him upward to ravage Uryuu’s mouth as he pins him against the wall. Kurosaki picks him up so suddenly that he has to wrap legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders for fear of falling. Their hips start shifting instantly, uncontrollably. Uryuu is <em>so close</em> but he isn’t ready to let go. Not until an essential condition is met.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki,” he urgently whispers into an ear, “<em>Bite me</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He does it without hesitation, hard, at the base of his throat. Uryuu comes right on cue. Nails glide across damp shoulders as his body locks up in savage bliss. He feels the hot splash of Kurosaki’s climax on his stomach and groans through a lazy slice of desire at the knowledge. Uryuu’s legs are carefully lowered and they shakily support each other in the aftermath. He reaches up to trace the indentations in his neck and Kurosaki gives him a sheepish look.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Too hard?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu shakes his head and emphasizes the lenient message with a kiss. “As long as my uniform can cover it, I won’t complain.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It is as close as he will ever get to asking for more of those ‘love’ marks. Although he really doesn’t think of them that way.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They dry off and get dressed right there in the narrow stall, easily negotiating for space like a choreographed dance. There are wet splotches on Kurosaki’s rumpled street clothes while Uryuu’s are practically pristine. He does smile about it this time, plucking at a damp patch on the band t-shirt, and Kurosaki grins back.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“At least it’s only water this time.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">True. It’s little wonder one of the things Uryuu bought today was replacement underwear. One of these days Kurosaki is going to learn the benefits of total nudity <em>before</em> sex. Uryuu takes the towel and lets him get the caddy as they creep down the hall into Kurosaki’s dorm room. Collecting class materials into his messenger bag, Uryuu shoulders the strap and walks to the door. Kurosaki stops him there with a touch to his lower back.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You can sleep here, you know. Instead of going all the way back to your room.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“And risk being seen leaving your room in the morning?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It’s the wrong excuse and they both know it. Of all the times they have gotten together, spending the night has never been an option because that’s what boyfriends do. And they certainly aren’t that, regardless of what was said to get a rise out of him in the bookstore. Kurosaki doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he kisses Uryuu <em>on the cheek</em> and says goodnight, leaving his guest to wander back to his room in a daze.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The vacant building is the epitome of serene, silent and dim. The stark fluorescent overhead lights have been left off. Windows line the southern wall but a rainy drizzle outside offers little in the way of illumination. A row of immaculate white hemispheres are neatly arranged along the opposite side of the room, delicately enshrouded in shallow shadows. It only heightens the challenge.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Target locked and arrow nocked, Uryuu takes a deep breath in and holds it for a handful of slow heartbeats. It has been too long since he was privy to the sensation of smooth wood in his grip. The borrowed bow is a far cry from his masterwork version, left at home with Ryuuken, but it slakes his craving for the nostalgic sport. He starts to release the breath as an arrow goes flying. It <em>thunks</em> into the padded disk with practiced precision. North. Uryuu wipes sweat from his forehead and flexes his left hand to keep it limber on the draw. He nocks another arrow and takes another breath.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ishida!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His concentration shatters and he barely avoids dropping the dart as he whirls to see who is shouting his name. Kurosaki is trotting toward him from across the expansive room. He is dressed in a black kendo uniform, just as Uryuu wears a white archery costume. That would explain why he is here, in one of a trio of annexes clustered between the track field and indoor pool. The academy isn’t hurting for finances, to be sure.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“How did you find me this time?” He has a habit of popping up when least expected.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I was on my way to practice and I saw you through the window. I didn’t know you were a member of archery club.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Returning to his task, Uryuu aims and shoots. Northwest.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hey, you’re not bad. Looks like you just missed the center, though.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">No, both arrowheads pierced the red rim exactly on the line. Ignoring the commentary, he takes another shot. Southwest.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Shouldn’t you get to practice?” he prompts without glancing at Kurosaki. The fourth arrow connects. Southeast. “Your sensei will yell at you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I want to watch you.” He expected to hear that but it still sparks in his chest like a miniature lightning bolt. A matching rumble of thunder can be heard overhead. Uryuu grits his teeth and launches shot number five. Northeast. “Hey, are you doing that on purpose? It almost looks like…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Number six strikes dead center, completing the symmetrical design. A perfect pentagram arrayed around the scarlet circle. He straightens from the archer’s stance and taps his glasses into place. Kurosaki is gaping at him when he bothers to check.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’re really good at this, aren’t you? Why don’t you join up and compete? I bet you would win.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“So I could display a little trophy in my room and feel proud when I look at it?” Uryuu snarks as he goes to retrieve his arrows from the target. “How pointlessly mundane.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I get it. It’s not about prestige but ability, right? You enjoy doing it whether or not others know how skilled you are. I’m the same way.” Kurosaki goes to pull one of them loose, making an impressed hum when it takes a hearty yank to dislodge it. “Competing is still fun, though. I’ve learned a lot from fighting different guys over the years. I guess archery isn’t like that, huh?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Not really.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Handing over the arrow he freed, he candidly asks Uryuu, “Want to come watch me spar?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He wants to say ‘no’. Almost has it forming on the tip of his tongue but then he realizes he <em>does</em> want to watch Kurosaki. Imagining it makes him want it more. Maybe it’s not a horrible idea. There isn’t much harm in spectating on a classmate’s kendo match. Even if anyone notices Uryuu on the sidelines, it isn’t a weird thing to be caught doing. But he can’t agree to go just like that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not done practicing.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s fine. I’ll wait.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The funny thing is he does seem fine with waiting. Kurosaki’s eyes are trained on him as he continues to lob a successive volley, puncturing the target in a geometric tattoo. Perhaps a neat octagon or a tidy triangle, because aiming for the center every time gets boring. On the final shot, Uryuu stiffens to feel hands curving around his waist. Kurosaki’s heat soaks through their traditional clothing to radiate against his back. He laps a bead of perspiration from Uryuu’s jaw line and murmurs into his ear.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You look so hot right now, Ishida.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Somehow, he doesn’t think Kurosaki is referring to temperature. He pulls the white collar down and nibbles at the dip between shoulder and neck. Uryuu tilts his head aside automatically and shivers at the approving groan that vibrates across his skin. His fingers clench around the bow as a frisson of desire is stoked within him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki, what do you think you’re doing? This isn’t the place.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I know but…” He takes another lick and wraps arms around Uryuu’s chest to bring them flush together. “You taste and smell so fucking good. Kinda salty and musky but still sweet. I like it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s disgusting,” he declares. He doesn’t mean it. “Let go of me. Someone could see us!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s too dark.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>You</em> saw me, didn’t you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki growls as his teeth press harder. Uryuu’s breath catches and he is <em>this</em> close to letting him do whatever he pleases. But Kurosaki chooses that moment to pull away, leaving them both breathing harder from such a brief interaction.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ugh, okay, I’ll stop. We’ll miss my practice if we don’t go now anyway. Come on, I want you to see what I can do with a sword.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He follows without being dragged for a change, but not before inverting his longbow to ease tension on the string. It is secured over his shoulder beside the quiver and off they go. The kendo dojo is right down the outdoor hall and around the corner. As soon as they walk in, a stern-looking older man bellows loud enough for all in attendance to overhear.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“About time you showed, Kurosaki! Kept your opponent waiting long enough, eh? Get your butt on the mat!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, yeah,” he answers with a roll of his eyes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Taking a seat in the audience section, Uryuu marvels over that show of rebellion and how it doesn’t result in any notable repercussions. He has to wonder why the sensei would tolerate such behavior over kicking the firebrand out of his club. After Kurosaki disappears into a side-room and reemerges a few minutes later in standard armor, he grabs a bokken and bows to another boy similarly equipped.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">From the first clash of wooden swords, Uryuu begins to comprehend why Kurosaki might be given a bit of extra leeway than average students. Swift and powerful, his strikes drive his opponent back within seconds. A crackling energy overtakes the small crowd of students gathered around Uryuu as they focus on the new fight. They start chattering about him right away.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Look, it’s Kurosaki-senpai!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki-kun is fighting!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“He’s so talented,” a girl Uryuu recognizes as a junior swoons. “Do you think I’d have a shot with him?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No way,” objects her friend. “He’s a <em>senior</em>. Besides, all the girls in school would kill to get with him. That’s too much competition!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A sophomore boy behind them overhears and says, “Some of the guys are interested, too.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They giggle and squee at the scandal of it all and Uryuu can’t help frowning. That’s right. How could he forget? Everyone loves Kurosaki. Hell, even a few of the straight boys would probably switch sides at a flash of his sexy smirk. Uryuu is in the resounding minority of people who wanted nothing to do with him. Until recently.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yet, as he gazes out at Kurosaki’s gracefully battling form, he can’t honestly claim his opinion hasn’t changed. Somewhere along the line, Uryuu became unable to loathe him properly, if at all. Blame it on dozens of shared orgasms or a distinct lack of animosity in Kurosaki’s treatment of him, but their enmity toward each other has been stripped away. For the most part. That doesn’t mean Uryuu <em>likes</em> him! But if he had the choice to opt-out of their agreement for good, he isn’t sure he would take it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He squeezes his hands tightly together and tucks them between his knees. It’s uncomfortable, this feeling that his views have altered so completely that Uryuu of the not-so-distant past wouldn’t recognize the current iteration. He can’t label Kurosaki as the source of his shame, either. It isn’t his fault Uryuu finds him irresistible in more ways than one. Relinquishing Kurosaki as his straw man, however, reveals the genuine origin of his misery.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Himself.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A girl to his left notices his intense expression as he watches the duel and asks, “You came in with Kurosaki-kun, didn’t you? How do you know each other?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“We’re classmates.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oooh. Then you must know him better than most. What’s he really like?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“He’s…” Fiddling with his glasses, Uryuu callously asserts, “He is arrogant and reckless and crude.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Her blithe expression crumbles. “Is…is that so?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The residual bitterness of his own words is reprimand enough. He sighs and amends, “Kurosaki is a hothead but he can also be quite charming and kind when he tries. He’s a decent person and a good friend.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The curious girl brightens and beams at him before turning back toward the subject of their gossip. Kurosaki has already defeated his first challenger and is in the midst of toppling the second. Uryuu can’t tear his eyes from the spectacle. An effervescent warmth gradually seeps into him as the minutes pass. He knows what it means and he isn’t going to subvert it this time. The familiar bloom of arousal low in his belly has him biting his thumb in growing frustration. He won’t deny it today. Kurosaki is strength incarnate and Uryuu wants to feel that power pressed between his thighs.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As soon as practice ends and everyone begins to disperse, he hurries over to the winded swordsman pulling off his helmet for the sake of circulation. He jerks Kurosaki close by his breastplate to whisper a covert message only he can hear.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I want you. My room. Ten minutes.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu leaves him standing there, shell-shocked with mouth parted and eyebrows raised.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The packed cathedral echoes with the priest’s solemn sermon. It’s the final one before fall break begins this Friday. All students and staff are in attendance, as mandated by the headmaster. Everyone is on their best behavior, respectful and quiet on pain of punishment. Everyone except Kurosaki, who has been cracking snide comments under his breath the entire time. Uryuu really wants to be annoyed but…they’re actually sort of funny.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Worse than muttering inappropriate jokes, Kurosaki transgressed by sitting beside him in the first place. He knows he isn’t supposed to act chummy with Uryuu in public but this has become a budding trend with him. It started with sitting together at breakfast last Tuesday, the most recent example being yesterday afternoon in the library. Right in front of several classmates, Kurosaki plopped into the armchair next to his and struck up a conversation about their upcoming trigonometry exam before moving on to more colloquial topics. Asano happened to be present, and he glared daggers at Uryuu the entire time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t even have a strong defense against this imprudence when rumor has already spread about their official status as ‘friends’ since that episode in town. Anytime he tries to scold Kurosaki, the boy is quick to remind him that it doesn’t look suspicious for two friends to hang out together. As long as they don’t start making out in the halls, they should be okay.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But Uryuu wouldn’t put it past him to try that, too.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The priest intones a somber closing remark and releases the flock from his thrall. Normally, pupils and teachers alike would be lining up for communion or confession but it seems the upcoming vacation has all thoughts looking outward rather than in. A few hundred bodies migrate toward the exits en masse. Even the priest disappears into his sacristy beyond the altar. Uryuu moves to stand but a hand suddenly pins his to the lacquered pew. A startled sound slips out and he whips around to glare at Kurosaki.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Stay here a sec.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You’ll see.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Whatever he’s scheming, no, thanks. Uryuu attempts to tug free of the hold but it doesn’t work. It will take more than a subtle shift to get himself loose and he can’t risk anything overt with students milling around them. Instead, he adjusts his leg to block their twined fingers from view and bends slightly forward as if in prayer or contemplation. It takes several minutes for so many people to clear the room, and he inwardly curses Kurosaki all the while.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What’s going on here?” asks a lingering literature teacher they both had the previous year. She claimed to love his poetry when Kurosaki had taunted him for it. “Is something wrong, Ishida-kun?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“He’s not feeling well,” lies the lying liar. “Sour stomach.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Is that true?” Resigning himself to the charade, Uryuu nods and winds his untethered arm around his middle as if it aches. “Should I call for the nurse?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Nah, I’ll take care of him.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t raise his gaze to the instructor’s but her voice is expressive enough without seeing her face. Evidently, the gossip about his and Kurosaki’s touching friendship isn’t restricted to their current roster of sensei because she croons like that’s the sweetest thing she’s heard all season.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“How nice of you, Kurosaki-kun! In that case, I’ll leave him to you. Try to get back to the dorms soon, all right?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Will do.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As soon as she is out of range, Uryuu hisses, “<em>Bastard</em>. What are you playing at?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Nothing much.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The death grip stays in place, though. Kurosaki uses the link to lead him down the aisle <em>away </em>from the exit. The elaborately carved confessional box Uryuu hasn’t gone anywhere near since September looms like a one-way portal to Hell itself. And he is far too clever for his own welfare because he can already see where this is going.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki…<em>no</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, yes. Might as well embrace it, Ishida, ‘cause this is happening.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Door is opened. Uryuu is wrangled in. Door is closed. Kurosaki grabs him and a struggle ensues inside the dark wooden confines.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“We can’t,” he insists even as his uniform is subjected to patent disarray, “We can’t do this here!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why not?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His reply is delayed thanks to a hot mouth adhering to a sensitive ear lobe. Palms shove at his chest but he refuses to be dislodged.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Because it…it’s <em>sacrilege</em>!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Obviously. Still, the pronouncement doesn’t win so much as a split-second of hesitation. The horny atheist captures Uryuu’s lips and promptly sucks out his very soul through the forbidden connection. He moans around meeting tongues and squeezes his eyes shut against the south-bound rush of blood. Damn Kurosaki and his sexual prowess!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’ve been wanting to do this with you for a while,” he pauses to heatedly confide, “I’ve even had dreams about it. Turns me on to commit a ‘sin’ in the same place they’re supposed to be <em>confessed</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The gasp Uryuu wishes could be attributed to virtuous horror is actually thanks to a heavy caress between his thighs. His glasses are skewed since neither of them thought to remove them, but he can’t be bothered to align the frames when Kurosaki is dropping onto the bench and pulling him into his lap. He goes straight to sucking on Uryuu’s neck because he knows it’s the easiest way to get his compliance. That trick isn’t going to fly today!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki, stop molesting me! I said I don’t want to do this type of thing here. It’s <em>wrong</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“And <em>I</em> said that’s exactly why I wanna do it,” he murmurs into flushed flesh before giving it a quick nip just to make him twitch. “Do me a favor this one time and I won’t bug you tomorrow.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu’s half-hearted resistance tapers off as he settles in surprise. Is he implying he won’t visit after lights-out tomorrow night? That he will forfeit a clandestine session in lieu of fulfilling his fantasy in the confessional? Kurosaki must really be serious about this! Even so, Uryuu wavers for two reasons. One being the understandable unwillingness to commit blasphemy. His silver cross is clearly visible in the parted V of a collar Kurosaki unclasped to bare his throat, reminding him of his precarious faith. The other reason, however, is a little unexpected even to him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What if I want you to ‘bug me’ tomorrow?” he quietly asks.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki freezes and slowly looks up. Uryuu won’t meet his eyes but he can sense the incredulity emanating from him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Then…I’ll have to think of some other way to repay you,” is the careful response. “Unless you think of something first. I’m open to suggestions.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The boy is still staring at him as he finishes opening Uryuu’s shirt and starts undoing the front of his slacks. In order to get that unsettling gaze off him, he leans in for another deep kiss that doesn’t end until Kurosaki’s fist closes around him. Uryuu arches out on a breathy sigh. An arm braces at his back to keep him from leaning too far away. His fingers clutch into the blazer covering Kurosaki’s shoulders when he starts pumping.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Although Uryuu decides to give in, he can’t help criticizing, “Amoral anti-saint.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, yeah,” he allows, darkly amused. “Shut up and let me desecrate you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki punctuates the command with a deliberate nudge of his thumb that elicits an involuntary whine. Uryuu can’t stand it when such embarrassing noises are forced from him! It is irksome enough that he unknots his hands from the black jacket and goes for Kurosaki’s pants in a bid for payback. Enfolded in a sliding palm, he groans long and grateful before engaging a sloppy kiss.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They start thrusting into each other’s grip, intermittently and then intently. The pacing is all over the place. They are too worked up to sync properly, so Uryuu widens his stance and scoots closer. Catching on, Kurosaki takes hold of both their erections and lets his hips still while Uryuu’s keep rocking steadily. <em>Perfection</em>. He moans about it, one hand bracing against the wall and the other curling into orange fringe. Lips trail teasingly along the side of his neck, a hint of teeth here and there hitching his breath.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Faster</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Always rushing me,” Kurosaki grumbles even as he obeys. “Why won’t you let me savor the moment?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Because the priest could come back out any minute. What if he finds us?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Then he’ll get one hell of a show!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu pulls his hair for the lame joke and gets a rough squeeze of his ass for the trouble. He uses the leverage of spiky locks to tilt his head back, easing his tongue into Kurosaki’s panting mouth for the most salacious kiss he can manage. At the same time, Uryuu inches even closer and cants his hips that much faster. The meter is ruined, but so is Kurosaki’s control. A high, helpless whimper announces his defeat and the wet heat slathering their stomachs confirms it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Their lips smack apart so Uryuu can relish the wrecked countenance he caused. He has never known Kurosaki to come so quickly and look so <em>lost</em> afterward. Like the climax hit him so hard it wiped his memory and all he can do is blink in bemused astonishment. It’s rather fetching on him, actually. Uryuu can’t help wriggling as another tendril of desire is added to the collective. He’s still waiting for his bliss, after all.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Wake up, Kurosaki. You’ve got a job to finish.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Mmhmm,” he agreeably hums. “One outstanding orgasm comin’ right up.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Rolling his eyes at the pun, Uryuu tenses when he is abruptly lifted and deposited on the bench instead. Kurosaki is on his knees, mouth parting, leaning forward. That’s all the time Uryuu has to prepare before he is unceremoniously engulfed. Kurosaki starts bobbing without delay. His nails scrabble at the walls, seeking purchase, and wind up embedded in the lip of the bench on either side of his legs. He is striving <em>so hard</em> for silence. He is failing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Aaah…nnh! K-Kurosa—Haah, <em>fuck</em>! That f-feels so…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He looks up and Uryuu could swear he’s secretly laughing at him. That jerk. But he can’t hold it against Kurosaki when he is sucking like a well-paid professional. Uryuu jams a fist against his gaping mouth at the last second but it barely dulls the edge of his sharp cry. Severely weakened by the release, he collapses forward into Kurosaki’s arms. They slump to the floor in a cramped heap and endeavor to normalize their racing hearts.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Now, tell me you’re still mad I dragged you in here,” Kurosaki softly challenges, stroking the slope of his back beneath the shirt. “Tell me that wasn’t one of our most intense tousles yet.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Unable to say either, Uryuu keeps quiet on that front but pokes his messy navel. “You’re cleaning up on your own.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t worry; I swallowed.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki seems so smug about it, too. Uryuu has nothing to say to that, so he starts to sit up. He goes rigid at the sound of footsteps approaching.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Is someone in there</em>?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Gritting his teeth against a curse, he meets Kurosaki’s widened eyes and feels a creeping panic tingle up his spine. They pick themselves up and straighten their clothes as furtively as possible. The door opens on the empty side of the partition. Uryuu very nearly squawks as he is shoved back to the floor.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Forgive me, uh, Father,” rattles Kurosaki in a hurry, “For I have sinned. It has been…a while since my last confession.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">To the quizzical arc of Uryuu’s left eyebrow, he shrugs in reply.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, dear, I didn’t think anyone would take confession today. Sorry to keep you waiting, my child.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The swish and rustle of robes seems loud in the limited cubicle. A creak of wood can be heard as the priest perches on the seat adjacent to them. The latch slides clear of the ornate grate offering a semblance of privacy between sections. Kurosaki tosses a glance at it but hastily averts his eyes. His profile is only slightly less damning than the full view of his pink-tinged face. He clears his throat when the older man prompts for his confession.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well, I’ve been lusting after a particular classmate for a while now and I’m not sure h—” Uryuu chops him in the shin and shakes his head to negate that disastrous admission before it’s out. “I’m not sure <em>she</em> appreciates it. I’ve tried not to think of her that way but I can’t help myself. It’s like she’s always there, in the back of my mind, calling out to me. It makes me feel a little crazy sometimes, how much I want her.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The priest is silent for a disconcerting moment. Finally, he says, “This dilemma is not uncommon among young men your age, my son, but you must not give into temptation. You must keep in mind that acting on these urges does not endanger you alone, but her as well. You must both consider the sanctity of your eternal souls.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu nods concurrence and the boy frowns, prodding at him with the toe of his shoe.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, but what if she’s into me, too? Is it really so bad to show how I feel about her in a physical way?” Scowling at his appalled expression, Kurosaki looks away from him and sighs. “You know what, Father? Never mind. Now that I think about it, she’s already mentioned how much she hates my guts, so there’s really nothing to discuss. I guess that’s all I came to say. What’s the damage?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Say five ‘Hail Marys’ and two ‘Our Fathers’ as you reflect on these troubles.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Sounds fair.” To Uryuu, he mouths ‘go’ and points toward the door. In light of a dubious squint, Kurosaki adds ‘trust me’ and turns back to the partition. While Uryuu cautiously opens the door and crawls through it, the idiot babbles in distraction. “Ah, one last thing, Father. What exactly is the deal with those wafers? Do they really <em>have</em> to taste so bland? I mean, I get that it’s the ‘Body of Christ’ and all, but who’s to say Jesus wasn’t kinda tasty?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Whatever response is given to such senseless prattling remains a mystery for Uryuu, who makes good his escape from the cathedral. He darts down the hall and waits at the intersection just out of sight. A few minutes later, Kurosaki jumps to find him loitering there.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Does he suspect anything!?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No way. Relax, we’re in the clear.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu wilts against the wall in relief. That was too close! “Now do you see why I was against that hare-brained plot?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Still don’t regret it,” mumbles Kurosaki. He starts walking and Uryuu follows in step, deep in thought.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Did you mean what you said in there? That thinking of me makes you crazy?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“In a good way. Mostly.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“And you really tried not to…want me like that?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He makes a sour face but confirms, “Yeah. I really did.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It doesn’t change everything. But it changes enough that Uryuu has to rethink every vindictive, judgmental notion he ever harbored for the boy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ryuuken’s presence in his dorm room is ice water in his veins and nails on a chalkboard at the same time. It is an affront to his personal space. It feels like cruelty and malice even though the man is only standing there, looking around. Uryuu is standing across from him, looking nowhere else. He can’t bring himself to sit because that would give him an advantage in height. Any advantage is too much advantage.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why haven’t you been responding to my calls and emails?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’ve been busy.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Too busy to type a quick message?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s what I said.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, that’s what you implied,” his father corrects. The corners of blue eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and his son’s slice to match. “It’s ridiculous. Can’t you admit you’ve been avoiding me?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If you know I’m avoiding you, why do I have to announce it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They don’t <em>glare</em>, per se. That would be too blatant. No, their disagreements are generally characterized by a more subtle style of antagonism than that. But one could theoretically cleave the tension between them with an axe.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“As I’m sure you’ve surmised, I came to get an answer, Uryuu: will you be home for break or not?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Not.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Detonation in three, two, one…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why are you always so intractable? Are you seriously telling me you’ll be fine staying here by yourself for a week? Even if it means being alone on your birthday? You will become an adult in less than two weeks, yet this is how you choose to act? It is time to grow up, Uryuu!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The irate angle of converging eyebrows increases as he taps his glasses up to reflect the light. Getting into a screaming match with his father wasn’t on his to-do list for the day, but neither was this morning’s adventure with Kurosaki in the church. Some adjustments must be made.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I will become an adult in less than two weeks, yet this is how you choose to treat me? I am old enough to make my own decisions, Ryuuken! I said I want to stay here and that’s what I’m going to do.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Offense tints his disposition. Superiority drips from his words as he retorts, “It seems I wasted my time in traveling here. Next time, save me the trouble by <em>answering my emails</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He pivots to pull open the door and recoils to discover someone waiting on the other side. Uryuu peers over his shoulder to see an all-too-familiar bright-tufted silhouette with a fist poised to knock. Kurosaki steps aside to let the elder Ishida pass. Folding his arms, Uryuu scowls to note the boy watching his father stride down the hall for a couple seconds longer than is necessary. Eventually, Kurosaki steps into the room and shuts the door behind himself.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Is that your dad? You look just like him.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Feel free to go after him once you’re done chasing me!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Whoa, hey,” he placates, closing the distance between them slowly to keep from setting him off again. “Did seeing him really wind you up this tight? You’re shaking…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu bats away a tentative touch before it connects. “I’m <em>fine</em>. Now, get out.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You didn’t even ask why I stopped by.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t care.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ishida.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What part of ‘get out’ did you misunderstand?” Kurosaki just stares at him until he sighs and says, “I’m tired. I want to take a nap before dinner.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Okay.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Still, he won’t leave. Uryuu really doesn’t have the energy to wrestle him out of the room like he normally would. He goes to shut the curtains, casting the room in moderate darkness, and sets his glasses on the nightstand. The plush comfort of his mattress is more welcoming than words can convey. He lies facing away from the door, of which Kurosaki is hovering on the wrong side. After a moment, he calls Uryuu’s name. A reluctant roll to glance his way shows the boy leaning over the bed to look at him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>What</em>, Kurosaki?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Do you really want me to go?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Something in his expression keeps Uryuu from snapping at him again. He shuts his eyes, returning to his original position, and mutters, “Do as you please. You will anyway.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki is quiet for so long that he actually starts to relax, the strain of his father’s surprise visit easing incrementally. Until he sits on Uryuu’s bed and starts speaking.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I heard you two arguing through the door. The very end of it, at least.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Congratulations.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I wanted to say you’re not the only one who doesn’t get along with their dad. Mine’s a total moron. You’d even agree he’s worse than me if you met him.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That must be difficult for you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It is. Especially because he thinks he knows best about everything. When Mom died, he got really strict all of a sudden. I think he decided he had to make sure my sisters and I turned out well so he could show his face to her on the other side without shame.” Uryuu doesn’t have a snarky rejoinder for that. He opens his eyes but doesn’t turn toward the boy. “It was fine for a few years. I could put up with it since I knew his intentions were good. But…when my sisters died, too, he went off the deep end.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He rises upright and meets somber brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it and Kurosaki seems to understand that. He nods in acknowledgment and drops his gaze.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I was upset so I started acting out. The more I acted out, the more he buckled down, the more I got frustrated and wanted to act out. We’re both such blockheads that neither of us would give in. It kept getting worse so I kept getting suspended and expelled, kept joining local gangs, kept causing trouble on the streets. I was even arrested once or twice. It took him a while to find a high school that would take me with that kind of record but my dad’s a doctor and he still has some connections. Let’s just say I didn’t get admitted to this fancy-ass academy on a scholarship.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Is that why you hate it here? Because you’re forced to attend?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s part of it. I also can’t stand the hypocrisy of religion. My mom was a believer and God had no problem letting her die bloody.” Kurosaki’s eyes go glassy with some immense emotion just below the surface. Shaking himself from dangerous reminiscence, he switches back on track, “Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is I can relate. I know your situation is different, but I’ll listen if you want to gripe about your dad.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Considering that for a beat, Uryuu figures it would be unfair not to say <em>something</em> after hearing all of that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I wish I could say Ryuuken was a loving father before my mother passed,” he bitterly begins, diving right into it, “But I can’t. He has always been cold and impersonal and critical. It’s part of what makes him an excellent surgeon. At least when she and my grandfather were around, I could go to them for affection and kindness. Living with just my father is hell. All he wants to talk about is how much I still need to improve, how I have no talent for any of the things I’m passionate about and I should simply focus on what will net me the most financial security. He wants me to go to medical school. I refuse to apply.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Same. About med school, I mean. Can you imagine a delinquent like me becoming a doctor?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You have the brains for it, if not the temperament,” Uryuu points out. “Not many students could spend half their academic career goofing off only to catch up in one semester.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I still studied at home,” he self-consciously confesses, “I just didn’t take the exams seriously or turn in my homework most of the time. Plus, I had a pretty compelling incentive to catch up this year.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki indulges a small smile and Uryuu dismisses the obscure compliment with a soft scoff. He lies back down and pulls the covers up to his waist as he imparts a glimmer of optimism for both of them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Look at the bright side: After graduation, we won’t have to put up with our fathers anymore. Whether starting a career or a degree, we’ll be in control of our own futures for a change.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Another peaceful hush ensues. He gently breaks it by asking, “Hey, Ishida? Do you mind if I nap with you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His fingers close tightly around the blanket out of Kurosaki’s sight. He doesn’t say ‘yes’ but he also doesn’t say ‘no’. Uryuu leaves it up to him to take the risk or not, can practically hear the boy contemplating it. In the end, he takes those odds. Kurosaki unfurls behind him and scoots as close as he dares. When Uryuu doesn’t throw a fit, he even chances a light kiss to the delicate skin right below his hairline. A shard of something he won’t analyze lodges in his heart at the careful gesture.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki kisses him again. Lower, over the clasp of his pendant. Uryuu starts to wonder if he’ll try to use this situation to get an extra session out of him today. Lips fold over the chain and gingerly pull it aside for better access. He latches onto that vaguely irritating action in the hopes that it will overshadow more worrying feelings threatening to emerge.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t mess with my necklace,” he grumpily warns. “I won’t let you break it twice.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Sorry about that. I didn’t know what it meant to you then.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What do you know about it now?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I know how it tastes. How it feels against my lips. How it contrasts with your skin when you blush. How you kiss it after you pray. How you habitually reach for it when you’re worried or lost in thought. I know I’ve never seen you take it off. Someone important gave it to you. Your mother?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Grandfather.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">One word is all he can get past the lump in his throat. Uryuu is reaching up to graze the smooth cross before he realizes what he is doing. For Kurosaki to know all those things means he has been watching much more closely than he should. It is flattering and endearing and frightening. It makes him want to simultaneously pull away and snuggle closer. Kurosaki goes back to those little kisses and he can’t smother a dismayed sound.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What’s wrong?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You treat me too gently!” he proclaims, fed up with himself, Kurosaki, all of it. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I prefer dark marks, not tender kisses!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The silence swells between them. Kurosaki doesn’t touch him again. He gets off the bed and Uryuu exhales sharply. His chest aches, thinking he finally succeeded in pushing the boy away. But the sound of the door opening never comes. Instead, it’s a desk drawer and Kurosaki clinks around in it for a moment before returning to his spot behind Uryuu. There is a squeak, a strong chemical scent, and an uncapped permanent marker slides into view as Kurosaki takes hold of his left arm.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Dark marks, eh? I’ve offered to give you this one before,” he comments as he neatly inks an outline on the inside of his wrist. “Remember that day Ochi-sensei caught us passing notes?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Like he could forget. It was the toppled domino that initiated a chain reaction of insanity from which they still haven’t recovered. Uryuu recognizes the design long before it is complete. He knows what it will be and he doesn’t stop Kurosaki from finishing it. Not when he can see the matching, faded version beneath a trio of thin silicone bracelets encircling the boy’s wrist.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Except Uryuu’s cross is the proper side up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">On the last day before break officially begins, he persuades Kurosaki to get a jump on their homework in the dorm lounge.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They are seated in the center of a sofa with shoulders in brazen contact because no one else is around. The rest of the students have either already left campus or are off preparing to do so. Even if they were surrounded by the watchful eyes of their classmates, Uryuu figures it wouldn’t make a difference. Kurosaki would say it’s normal for friends to lean against each other while studying. Maybe it is. Uryuu wouldn’t really know.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He turns a page in the textbook he holds and his gaze catches on the fading cross at his wrist. Uryuu has access to at least three different solvents that would remove it—including the small bottle of hand sanitizer in his bag—but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sentimental as it sounds, the simple emblem has grown on him since the first time Kurosaki started wearing it as a badge of rebellion over a year ago. Like most things related to Kurosaki, he should hate it. But he really doesn’t.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Pass me that calculator,” requests Uryuu.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki hands it over and asks, “Are you gonna finish your coffee?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Help yourself.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Reaching over to pluck the half-full drink from the cradle of Uryuu’s knees, he downs it in three swigs and noisily crushes the can. A few seconds later, Kurosaki’s phone vibrates against his hip where they are connected. Uryuu shifts aside as the boy fishes it from a pocket to read the message he received.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“My dad’s almost here,” Kurosaki announces and starts shoving his stuff into his bag. “I have to go finish packing.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why am I not surprised?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hey, I would’ve done it last night if it hadn’t taken you so long to c—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A hand is clapped to his mouth instinctively since Uryuu knows what he’s about to say. Alone or not, a public space is still a public space and he can’t be too careful. But the reason they both stayed up later than they should have was indeed his fault, as Kurosaki implied. The fact that it took Uryuu at least twice as long as usual to finish had nothing to do with his level of interest, and everything to do with his muddled state of mind. He tells himself it was the distractions of school stress or residual anger over his father’s surprise visit. It wasn’t because that session would be their last for a whole week. It wasn’t because he kind of wanted to draw it out, savor it like a gourmet meal. It wasn’t because he is going to <em>miss Kurosaki</em> while he is gone.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Good riddance,” Uryuu mutters, returning to his calculations. “Hurry up and go so I can concentrate.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Although he doesn’t look up to confirm it, he can practically feel Kurosaki’s eyes rolling.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If you’re gonna be like that I should call you in the middle of the night for phone sex.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I hope the sound of my voice mail does it for you, since that’s all you’ll hear.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Smartass.” A smirk tugs at Uryuu’s mouth but he still doesn’t raise his gaze from the notebook page he’s scribbling numbers onto. “When will your dad be here?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The smirk falls away. Of course Kurosaki had to bring that awkward subject up.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“He won’t.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“So, you’re taking a train home?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There is a pensive pause. He leans in to peer at Uryuu’s down-turned face. His eyes flick to Kurosaki’s against his will and he isn’t shocked to read the beginnings of concern blooming there.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t tell me you’re planning to stay here for break.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Better than spending eight days stuck in the same house as Ryuuken.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I guess I can see that, but staying here by yourself is just…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s fine, Kurosaki. I do it every year for almost every break. I’m used to it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His frown says he doesn’t believe that for a second. Something tells Uryuu it’s time to run. This isn’t something he wanted to discuss, much less explain, and it can only lead to bad things. He slaps his book shut with the notebook and pencil still inside. His attempt to rise from the couch is countered by a hold at his elbow.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You can stay at my place,” Kurosaki suddenly suggests far too casually for comfort. “We have a guest room and my dad won’t care.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, thank you.” The courteous words are contradicted by a stiff tone. Uryuu would rather sleep in a gutter than in the Kurosaki residence.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why not?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t want to.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The frown spreads to his eyebrows, deepening the permanently perturbed furrow between them. “Quit being stubborn, Ishida.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Take your own advice and quit asking.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Listen, I won’t touch you if that’s what you’re worried about. We can just hang out. As friends.” That is so, so much worse. The horror he feels at the prospect must translate to his expression because Kurosaki’s darkens in response. He releases Uryuu’s arm and turns away on a sharp sigh. “Oh, right. How could I forget? We’re not <em>friends</em> at all, are we? We’re enemies who fuck each other on a regular basis.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His stomach lurches from emotions he refuses to acknowledge. Kurosaki grabs his bag and stands with the clear intention to take his exit. Uryuu knows he should let him leave now before he makes it worse. Part of him <em>wants</em> to make it worse.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That’s right, Kurosaki,” he quietly agrees, watching the boy halt to hear him. “We are not friends. We’re not even friendly. Remember how you had to blackmail me into sleeping with you? Because I do. I think about it every time you touch me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu can’t see his face but something like anger registers in the set of his shoulders. Kurosaki doesn’t turn to deliver a piercing rejoinder, though. He doesn’t say anything at all. After a moment he takes a deep breath reflected in his posture and strides out of the room.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">And Uryuu doesn’t understand what compelled him to say it or why he feels guilty in the wake of brutal honesty because he does remember and he does think about their little ‘deal’. It isn’t a sin to tell the truth. He didn’t even reveal anything that wasn’t previously established. So, why does he want to chase after Kurosaki and say…and say that he’s…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><em>Sorry</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He takes off his glasses and buries his face in his hands, bending forward from the ache in his gut. God, what is wrong with him? When did he start giving a shit about how his words affect that irredeemable heathen? Uryuu presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and wonders if he’s suffering from some obscure version of Stockholm Syndrome. He hopes so. The only alternative is that he cares for Kurosaki rather than simply tolerating him and that would be sheer catastrophe. Utter devastation. An emotion apocalypse. The death of his tenuous sanity and everything he believes in.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">No, Uryuu desperately decides, he doesn’t care for Kurosaki. He doesn’t like Kurosaki. He won’t miss Kurosaki. He <em>hates</em> Kurosaki.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><em>Happy birthday</em>, reads the concise message on his phone’s screen.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It goes black at the press of a button and Uryuu sets it face-down on his desk with a sigh. The email is from an old pen pal he has barely spoken to this year. Although he doesn’t really appreciate these kinds of half-hearted well-wishes, at least it isn’t one of those cheesy e-cards that plays a lame ditty and casts pixelated confetti all over the virtual place while a jubilant cartoon animal pops out of the margins giggling like a maniac. He doesn’t think he could handle something like that today. Not when his week has already been so depressing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The weekend went fine. Uryuu focused on finishing his homework, reading ahead in his textbooks, and getting a jump on his upcoming literature essay. But when he ran out of assignments he also ran out of distractions. It didn’t take long for crushing boredom to set in, swiftly followed by unnerving restlessness and seeping anxiety. Sleep would have been a welcome refuge if it wasn’t suddenly so elusive. Instead, he is ashamed to admit, he spent a great deal of time staring into space trying not to brood about one person in particular.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It is a very good thing that email was not from Kurosaki or he would’ve sunk straight into the deep end and finally let himself drown under the misery he’s been floundering in all semester.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu snatches off his glasses, pushes back from his desk, and goes to fling himself belly-first atop his mattress. He has been doing this a lot lately, too. It is unspeakably aggravating how Kurosaki has reduced him to this frail caricature of emo inclinations. His resentment ratchets up a thousand percent as he detects a trace of the boy’s scent on his pillowcase—or he <em>thinks</em> he does, even though he has washed the bedding since the last time they were both on it. Uryuu doesn’t know which is worse: his brain fabricating a familiar smell or his body’s reaction to the phantom stimulus. One whiff of Kurosaki and his pulse fluctuates by nearly double its usual meter. His skin warms in seconds, an understated flush spreading outward as a pale pink stain.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He buries his face in the pillow and tells himself a series of pretty lies. That it’s only soap he smells. That he doesn’t feel a torrent of heat spilling lower. That he hasn’t had any sexual thoughts about Kurosaki all week. That he has enjoyed their time spent apart. That he will be incredibly unhappy when the break ends. That he hasn’t gotten excited each night, remembering certain events of past nights. That he isn’t getting excited by one of those unbidden memories right now.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu inwardly chants these untruths until he almost starts to believe them, but in the back of his mind a fantasy burgeons. He can almost feel Kurosaki in the room with him—braced above him, trailing hands and lips and tongue over Uryuu’s body. Clothes shifting, scent surrounding, warmth transferring between them. The soft susurrus of rushed breath filling a natural hush. He bites his lip against a shiver spurred by the imagined sensation of Kurosaki’s hips pressed to his ass.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">No matter how he struggles, he can’t shut out the flow of erotic impressions streaming through his consciousness. Uryuu blames his ‘enemy’ for the lapse in mental discipline. If it wasn’t for Kurosaki’s influence he wouldn’t be squirming on his mattress like a sex-crazed loser eking some small measure of relief from incidental friction. It’s just one more aspect of Uryuu’s life that he has tainted simply by being a part of it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When he can’t stand it anymore, he makes a desperate sound low in his throat and slowly slides a hand down his front. It feels like defeat and reprieve at the same time. It feels intolerable and inevitable. It feels like sin and sanction because the first graze of cool fingers to hot flesh sends sparks cascading down his spine. He pushes up to his knees for extra room but keeps them spread wide so he can keep his chest on the bed, keep his vision blocked by the pillow, and keep reality from registering too strongly. The longer he can pretend it isn’t really happening, the better off he’ll be. Uryuu is not masturbating to thoughts of Kurosaki. He <em>isn’t</em>, okay? This is just…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">From where it was left on the desk, his phone vibrates with an incoming call. Since he’s a little preoccupied, he ignores the rhythmic buzzing. It’s probably Ryuuken intending to nag him some more about being stubborn anyway. And as much as he doesn’t want to think of Kurosaki right now, he wants to think of his father far less. Uryuu stops fighting it and lets the images come. He thinks of the sounds Kurosaki makes when he’s close. The look on his face when Uryuu went down on him in the shower. The fact that he has learned precisely how deep to bite for best results. The strength of his grip in all the right places. The rough way Kurosaki handles him balanced by the gentle glide of his palms. The line of light kisses pressed so carefully along the arch of Uryuu’s neck.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It’s the latter memory that hits the hardest. His mouth opens on a subdued moan as his brow scrunches for conflicting reasons. He’s holding back again. He doesn’t want to come while envisioning such a chaste act, knowing what it implies about Kurosaki’s regard for him. There is no affection behind the boy’s attentions. There can’t be or what they are doing is so much worse than he could ever accept.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That may be the biggest lie Uryuu has ever sold himself, but he’ll keep selling it as long as the tiniest fraction of his brain buys it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A firm knock at the door disrupts his concentration. His hand stills and slips out from under the unzipped waistline of his jeans. Uryuu sits up, grabs a tissue to clean his hand, and straightens his clothes as he wonders who the hell would visit his dorm at the tail-end of fall break. It’s probably Ryuuken, for the aforementioned reason. If it is his father on the other side of that door, Uryuu will not hesitate to express the full extent of his discontent at the unexpected appointment. There is too much pent up rage and frustration and desolation swirling in his blood alongside the arousal that he feels fit to burst in half a dozen different ways. All it will take is one glare, one snide comment, one hint of disdain and he is going to <em>flip the fuck out</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Combing fingers through tousled hair, Uryuu walks to the door and hesitates to turn the handle. Maybe he should pretend he isn’t in. Maybe he should shout for the visitor to leave him alone. Or maybe he should quit acting like a moody teenager and open the damn door. He sighs, twists, and pulls.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">No. <em>No no nooo</em>, he inwardly shrieks as his heart judders painfully before kicking into overdrive. Kurosaki is not standing in the hall outside his room. No, he is not. Uryuu starts to push the door shut on this evil apparition but a foot steps forward to block its path. He raises his other hand to the wood and pushes harder, but Kurosaki shoulders past him like it’s nothing. The door slams shut with nothing to serve as resistance and Uryuu seriously considers reopening it to flee. Except he knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop running until he’s gone too far to ever return.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He straightens from his lean against the door and reluctantly turns to face his guest.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Is that how you treat someone who went out of their way to bring you free food, Ishida? What’s wrong with you?” Studying him properly, Kurosaki frowns and repeats in a more sober tone, “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem kind of…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu averts his eyes and lets his fringe fall forward to hide color that shouldn’t be there. “What are you doing here, Kurosaki?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Didn’t I just say I brought food?” He raises the plastic bag he’s holding as evidence and sets it on the corner of his desk. “Are you sick or something?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yes. Yes, he is. Sick in the head because Kurosaki’s presence is preventing him from winding down like he needs to before the other boy intuits the genuine cause of his flushed appearance. Uryuu bars an arm across his middle in the hopes that it will suffice as some sort of shield.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t want it. Get out.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Tch. Inviting as always. At least try a bite, would you? It’s one of my mom’s old bento recipes. You’ll like it, I promise.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t care if it’s the most delicious bento ever made, I still don’t want it!” Kurosaki throws up his hands and goes to sit on the edge of his bed. Uryuu tries very hard not to think about what he was just doing there. “Why are you back early? Couldn’t stand one more day with your dad?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, idiot, I’m back early because today is your <em>birthday</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Blush intensifying uncontrollably, he snaps his eyes to Kurosaki’s at that. Call him optimistic but he really didn’t expect the boy to remember, much less care enough to return early for it. Especially considering the last thing Uryuu said to him a week ago. He’s not proud of it but he won’t take it back. Not for a free meal and certainly not for an impromptu social call. His gaze falls to the floor as he mumbles his reply.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No one asked you to—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Did you really think I’d let you spend your eighteenth birthday by yourself?” Kurosaki sounds offended by the assumption. Uryuu isn’t brave enough to risk a glance for confirmation. “Seriously, why are you acting so weird?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not acting weird,” he denies, mimicking offense he doesn’t feel since he’s too busy subverting panic.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, you are. It’s like you’re…I don’t know. Shy?” Smirking at the absurd notion, Kurosaki teases, “Are you being shy, Ishida? Your face is bright red. What are you embarrassed about?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not shy or embarrassed! I’m <em>angry</em> because some moron suddenly showed up at my dorm without warning, asking stupid questions and—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Actually, I called first. You didn’t answer.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“That doesn’t make it better!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Evidently deciding to suss out the truth of the situation for himself, Kurosaki rises to close the distance between them. Uryuu’s fingers scrabble for the knob but a palm is preemptively planted against the door beside his shoulder, holding it shut. Kurosaki’s other hand nudges his chin upward to appraise his countenance. Uryuu knows what he will find there: pink cheeks, dilated pupils, flushed lips, and elevated breathing. Even Kurosaki isn’t dumb enough to misinterpret the signs. Not when he’s seen them on Uryuu too many times to count. Brown eyes widen slightly in recognition before darting downward to the telling silhouette in his jeans.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Were you just…?” He turns his head away but doesn’t attempt denial. There is awe in Kurosaki’s voice as he says, “I thought you never—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I don’t.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“But you were, weren’t you? Right before I got here.” Easing nearer to Uryuu, he asks, “Were you thinking about me while you did it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><em>Who else</em>, he wants to quip but it would surely set Kurosaki off like a bottle rocket. “None of your business.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His soft huff of laughter ruffles the ends of Uryuu’s hair. Kurosaki tucks it behind his ear and leans in to whisper, “Since you didn’t get to finish, do you want me to…?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The offer has Uryuu turning back for eye contact and the tips of their noses almost meet with the motion. When his mouth parts to speak, Kurosaki’s focus fixates on it. “You’re asking?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s your birthday.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu swallows against the implications of that simple statement. So, Kurosaki would willingly defer to his desires on account of the occasion? How considerate. Never mind that consideration is the last thing Uryuu expects—or wants—from him. It’s more likely that Kurosaki is plotting to use this as leverage later on. Something along the lines of, <em>remember that time I didn’t molest you on your birthday?</em> Nope. Uryuu is having none of that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A slight change in angle has their lips fitting together perfectly. Kurosaki gives a short groan and buries his fingers in dark hair, kissing Uryuu like this is secretly the birthday gift he’s been waiting for all year. He gets carried away far too quickly, popping the button on his jeans within the first fifteen seconds. Kurosaki doesn’t hesitate to reach under fabric and take firm hold of him. Jolting from the pleasure imparted by that confident grasp, Uryuu gasps around the tongue massaging his. It’s so much better than doing it to himself, even if he really wishes it wasn’t.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t recall breaking the kiss to say it and doesn’t know why he would want to. He doesn’t recall clenching his fists into the sides of the boy’s t-shirt, either. Uryuu tenses as the pacing of his strokes speeds up and says his name again, more urgently. Kurosaki curses into the curve of shoulder and throat he was just nibbling. He raises his head to stare at Uryuu with a lust-drunk gleam in his eyes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Were you that close, Ishida? If I knocked a minute later you would’ve been covered in come…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Then he definitely wouldn’t have answered the door, he wants to point out, but Kurosaki has him right on the edge and he doesn’t have the breath to spare for snark. Uryuu can feel it rising—the wave cresting, threatening to crash. He tilts his head back to rest against the door and fails to cut off a groan before it emerges. But it turns into an unhappy noise as the pressure of that sliding grip disappears.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Kurosaki,” he complains with his tone.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Feel free to keep calling my name but it won’t change the fact that I’m about to give you the best birthday blowjob of your life.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Wha—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu’s incredulous exclamation is sidelined when his wrist is caught and tugged. Kurosaki drags him across the room, pushes him to sit on the bed, and yanks his pants down to his thighs in rapid succession. By the time Uryuu recovers enough to gripe about it, Kurosaki is already living up to his boast. His mind blanks and his fingers curl into the covers because <em>God damn</em>. It’s exactly like that time in the confessional: fast and wet and unrestrained. Only this time Uryuu doesn’t hit his limit in under a minute. He can’t; Kurosaki won’t let him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The urge to yell at the jerk is powerful, but Uryuu is moaning too much to get a full word out, never mind a sentence. When did he start doing that? And why can’t he stop?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As though anticipating his thoughts, Kurosaki briefly halts the assault to encourage, “Be as loud as you want today. No one can hear you but me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Oh, he’d like that, wouldn’t he?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Watching him work is making it worse, Uryuu realizes. He lets himself fall backward and shuts his eyes, but losing the sense of sight emphasizes touch. On top of that, the hand that isn’t locked around the base of his erection moves to rub up and down flexing abs. Kurosaki is enjoying this too much. Why else would he be drawing it out so long? For the sake of seeing Uryuu writhe, obviously. He can’t help it, couldn’t lie still if his life depended on it. What Kurosaki is doing feels so fucking amazing that part of him can understand the appeal in prolonging the end. But Uryuu also feels like he’s been waiting for days, since the last time they were together this way and he doesn’t think he can bear it any longer.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<em>Kurosaki</em>!” In all honesty it’s practically a plea. When is Uryuu ever honest with himself? “Oh, God, I need—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t get the chance to communicate his needs because Kurosaki is suddenly kissing him, possessively pushing his tongue inside. Uryuu’s hands automatically trade sheets for shirt to tightly grip.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t you dare say His name right now,” commands Kurosaki with a nip to his lower lip for emphasis. “He’s never made you feel this good.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu opens his eyes to gape at him for that unwarranted assertion, but they snap shut again as Kurosaki’s fist goes from holding steady to pumping <em>fast</em>. He bites Uryuu’s throat firmly, just how he likes, and it isn’t the Lord’s name being praised this time around. The pressure releases in a glorious shockwave, vibrating through him like the thrum of heavy bass. It is impossible to resist getting swept up in the ‘music’ Kurosaki always inspires. He is the veritable <em>maestro</em> to Uryuu’s concerto.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The strident chorus gradually tapers to a sweet refrain. There is moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes and he tells himself it is only a side-effect of a stellar orgasm. It has nothing to do with how he feels about Kurosaki’s surprise visit.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When he gets up to grab the box of tissues, Uryuu raises up on elbows and asks, “What about you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Maybe later,” he replies with a small smile. “I wasn’t kidding about that bento so don’t even think about saying you’re not hungry.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m not.” Kurosaki shoots him a long-suffering look layered with something else that makes Uryuu’s heart thump harder. It’s not affection, he reminds himself, it can’t be. He glances away and mumbles, “But I guess I’ll try it anyway.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">With his steaming face pressed to the mattress and his hands fisted in the sheets, Uryuu comes for the third time that day. It siphons the last of his energy away and he wants to move from propped on his knees to lying on his side but he can’t because yes, two of Kurosaki’s fingers are inside him. Somehow, he managed to convince Uryuu that this was exactly what he needed to conclude a very eventful birthday. If by ‘eventful’ he means <em>exhausting</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They’ve spent the past seven hours together. A new record. He would love to say it’s been dreadful but he really can’t. Kurosaki has been unusually pleasant company—and not just because he keeps seeing to Uryuu’s pleasure with absolutely no concern for his own. Although he figures he should be impressed and grateful for that, it’s mostly unsettling. That kind of behavior goes against the whole premise of their ‘forced’ interactions, doesn’t it? If Kurosaki isn’t doing this to get off, why is he doing it at all!? Uryuu knows the answer and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When Kurosaki withdraws, Uryuu starts to shift forward and collapse onto the bed but a grip at his waist stops him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Hold on, let me…” He turns his head to watch Kurosaki fetch a hand towel from the dresser before tossing it over the wet spot. “Okay, go ahead.” But Uryuu doesn’t complete the maneuver. He slowly sits up and stares. “What? Don’t try to tell me you hated it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki is trying to act tough but it’s obvious he’s actually worried. It took a lot of wheedling to get Uryuu’s consent for something so inherently invasive, even though Kurosaki was so confident he’d love it—or at least not want to slap him afterwards. The fact that he was presumptuous enough to bring lube in addition to food is a little annoying, to be sure, but he wasn’t wrong. Uryuu did enjoy it and will probably agree to let Kurosaki do it again in the future. Not that he’s going to announce it or anything.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Shaking his head, Uryuu confirms, “I didn’t hate it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Well…good.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I was just wondering when you’re going to do something about that,” he says with a pointed glance at Kurosaki’s erection, poking insistently against the fly of his jeans. “Is something wrong with it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, there’s nothing <em>wrong with it.</em> Don’t even say shit like that or you might jinx me!”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">One of Uryuu’s eyebrows arches at that outburst. Kurosaki is avoiding the question and that doesn’t bode well. It means he knows what he’s doing and that it’s ridiculous because Uryuu is not his boyfriend, therefore this level of selflessness is entirely unnecessary. Maybe it’s the endorphins, or misplaced emotions about his stupid birthday, but he gets a crazy idea thinking of how Kurosaki <em>always</em> does this. He always works so hard to make sure Uryuu feels good even if he doesn’t get what he wants, too. Kurosaki is always patient and considerate even if he acts like a punk sometimes. He always stops when asked even if he’s technically allowed to do whatever he pleases.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu has never let himself ponder these things. He can’t stand the notion that Kurosaki isn’t simply using him because it would mean he <em>cares</em> about Uryuu and…maybe it would also mean Uryuu cares about him. Although he wants to run screaming from the very thought, he doesn’t really feel like running right now.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He combs a hand through his hair and sighs. “All right, Kurosaki. Do it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Do what?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You can fuck me.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His features freeze somewhere between confusion and amazement. He is silent for a long moment. Then the tension subsides and he huffs a weak laugh.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Yeah, right, Ishida. How dumb do you think I am? I know the rules. I’m not going anywhere near—”<br/><br/></p><p class="western">“Just this once,” Uryuu firmly states. “Just for today, we can ignore that clause in the agreement.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Another stunned beat passes before he regroups enough to argue, “This is a trap, right? Or a test? I’m not falling for it. No way.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It’s not a—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Cutting himself off on an aggravated sound, Uryuu can already tell it’s useless. Kurosaki is making his trademark obstinate expression, which declares he has made up his mind and isn’t liable to change it. So, Uryuu snatches up the forgotten bottle and promptly straddles his lap. Stammering inarticulate objections, Kurosaki tries to scoot backward but the wall blocks his escape. He gasps as the button on his jeans is undone, the zipper soon to follow.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.” He twitches at the snap of the lube’s cap opening with a flick of Uryuu’s thumb. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I? Must’ve passed out after we ate all that coffee-flavored hard candy. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Speaking of hard…” Kurosaki groans to feel his erection enfolded in a slick fist. Uryuu scoots into position and takes a deep breath. “Try not to move right away.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">With a hand braced on Kurosaki’s shoulder, he smoothly sinks down. Uryuu’s eyes shut on their own as he releases a controlled sigh. He bites his lip because it’s strange and a little uncomfortable, but it’s not as bad as he expected. Actually, he decides it isn’t ‘bad’ at all since he’s adjusting with each passing second. Kurosaki is stone-still but he has a death grip on Uryuu’s hips. He doesn’t breathe for about half a minute, then he sucks in air like he just remembered how lungs are supposed to function.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Oh, <em>fuck</em>, this is seriously happening…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kissing the side of his throat, Kurosaki murmurs his name there and loosens his hold, but he still doesn’t move. He works his way up the length of Uryuu’s neck until mouths hotly meld. Kurosaki’s palms slide across his lower back to wrap his arms around Uryuu, pulling him closer and kissing him harder. They part for breath, Kurosaki says his name again, and that’s when Uryuu starts to move.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Friction makes it better. So does the way Kurosaki’s head tilts back to touch the wall, eyes shut tight and mouth parted on a low moan. His look of helpless pleasure reminds Uryuu of that episode in the confessional and he wonders if Kurosaki was fantasizing about doing this then. Uryuu starts to wonder how many times—but he immediately decides he doesn’t want to know because he sort of likes the idea of Kurosaki fantasizing about fucking him and he really, really shouldn’t. Instead, Uryuu focuses on establishing some kind of rhythm but it gets thrown off every time Kurosaki kisses him. When he isn’t kissing Uryuu, he’s staring at him. Kurosaki is oddly quiet, too, like he’s afraid to say anything that might ruin this or break the spell Uryuu has put him under. The captivated look on his face proclaims if this is a dream, he does not want to wake up.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Fast or slow, Kurosaki?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Slow,” he breathes without hesitation. “I want…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His breath catches at the way Uryuu starts rolling his hips on each downward motion. Kurosaki is already near his limit but he’s fighting for control. He makes an urgent noise and presses his lips to the hollow of Uryuu’s throat, arms tightening around his waist to curtail his momentum. After a handful of seconds Kurosaki lets up, panting from the close call, and meets Uryuu’s questioning gaze. If he’s going for chivalrous he’s wasting his time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t hold back on my account. It’ll be a while before I can—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I know. It’s not that. I just…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Unwilling to finish the thought, Kurosaki swallows and looks away. He doesn’t have to say it, though. Uryuu figures it out all on his own: Kurosaki wants to make this last. Not only because it’s such a rare occurrence or it feels so good, but because he’s doing this with Uryuu and that means something. Because Kurosaki <em>likes</em> <em>him</em>. How can Uryuu deny it when he can see the awestruck way Kurosaki is watching him, feel the tenderness behind every touch, and taste the passion in his kiss? Uryuu listens closely to the sound of his voice and thinks proof of genuine emotion is there, as well, in the form of a fine tremor he’s never heard before.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Then Kurosaki whispers something against his skin—a word that resembles his given name—and Uryuu stops dead.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What?” It slips out weak and panicky like a plea. A plea that Kurosaki did not just cross that line, that he hasn’t pushed them past the point of no return in the span of two short syllables. “What did you say?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t answer, but kisses the corner of Uryuu’s mouth and says, “Don’t stop! Please, Ishida, I’m so close.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Sensing the desperation underlying his request, he can’t bear to leave Kurosaki in limbo when he isn’t even sure of what he heard. Uryuu starts rocking again and notices the shiver it causes, feels it shake through him in turn because Kurosaki has never begged him for anything. He’s never had this reverent look in his eyes or used this soft tone of voice. He’s never kissed Uryuu this sweetly or moaned this plaintively as his body tensed from the rush of pleasure.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki’s eyes are closed but his fingers are tracing simple designs over Uryuu’s thighs while his breathing gradually slows. Brown eyes open and focus on blue. Kurosaki smiles.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Something like terror slices into Uryuu’s heart. He climbs out of Kurosaki’s lap and sits on the edge of the bed, turned away from him. It’s bad enough to enjoy sex with another man, but having feelings for each other is unacceptable. Uryuu thinks of all the times he’s had to lie to himself this year and realizes he has lost count. He can’t do this anymore—all the dishonesty and justifications and self-loathing—it’s killing him!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks Kurosaki without glancing at him, “To screw the ‘good Catholic boy’? Now you’ve gotten what you were after, we can finally end this insanity.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A long, painful silence follows. Uryuu cringes at the waver in his reply. “Is that what you want? For this to end?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Does it matter? Not like I ever had a choice.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki startles him by yanking him around to force eye contact. His features are contorted into an unpleasant combination of wounded and furious.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Don’t give me that bullshit! We both know I never really forced you into <em>anything</em>. The headmaster won’t kick you out, no matter how many fights you get into, and you could’ve come up with a ton of other ways to get rid of me without ever agreeing to let me touch you. So, don’t act like you’re a fucking <em>victim</em> when you wanted this, too.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu’s whole body goes cold. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. The fact that he has been willingly committing these ‘atrocities’, as his faith proclaims they are, with someone he has even grown to care about is not a truth easily swallowed.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Get out,” he hisses through clenched teeth.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Ishida—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“If you’re saying I have a choice,” Uryuu harshly begins, slapping away the hand that reaches for him, “Then I want to be left alone. Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t even <em>look</em> at me again. Pretend I don’t exist so I can do the same. That’s what I want, Kurosaki. Is it a gift you could ever bear to give me?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Stunned, all he says is, “I…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Then he looks down, stands up, and walks out the door.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu jolts awake from the reverberations of a concussive thunderclap and sits up in bed, panting from fright. The storm is not solely to blame for his distress. If anything, it revived him from a nightmare that was bound to get worse as it went on. He has had it before, several times over the course of a very long winter, and he knows how it always ends.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He hasn’t spoken with Kurosaki in over three months. It should have been a relief—should’ve been <em>bliss</em>—but Uryuu has never felt more miserable in his life.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Having a strict routine helps. Every day he attends his classes, completes his homework, prays in the chapel, and reads something until it is time for bed. Every day he thinks of Kurosaki. Every day he slides a little deeper into depression. For weeks and weeks he has been telling himself it will eventually get easier. It has to, because Uryuu can’t go on like this. He can’t comprehend why it is impossible to forget about Kurosaki when they haven’t so much as glanced at each other all this time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Flinging off the covers, Uryuu quietly opens his door and steps into the hall. The windows lining it let in just enough light to see by, dark and dripping and framing the rainstorm raging outside. His feet follow a very familiar path through the school until the large double doors of the chapel stand closed before him. They aren’t locked. No one but Kurosaki would dare defile the sanctity within and he hasn’t acted out once since the start of last semester.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu goes inside, walks toward the altar, and lowers to his knees in front of it. Clutching his grandfather’s cross with both hands, he closes his eyes and prays for mercy. He begs God to forgive him for what he has done. If this is his punishment, it’s more than he can take! Even though he knows he shouldn’t have acted on it, he never asked to feel this way about another man. If there was something he could do to make it right again, he would. If he could go back to the day he let Kurosaki kiss him and erase everything they’ve done since then…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Thunder rumbles through the cathedral all around him but it is nothing compared to the way Uryuu’s heart is thundering at the thought. He releases the cross to press a hand to his chest instead, gritting his teeth against the pain of imagining those experiences with Kurosaki being stripped from his memory. His fingers curl into a fist around the fabric of his shirt and something like a sob slips out. It hurts. It hurts so much he can’t breathe, doesn’t want to breathe because he hates God for putting him through this and he hates himself for letting it happen.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach doesn’t stop its churning. Uryuu bends forward to touch his forehead to the carpet and fights to keep the sorrow locked away. His eyes are stinging, lungs burning from each sharp inhale and stilted exhale, but he won’t allow himself to cry. Not for this—not for Kurosaki.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The worst part is Uryuu can’t swallow his own lies anymore. He doesn’t even have the energy to craft them in the first place when he knows he doesn’t hate Kurosaki. He misses Kurosaki. He <em>likes</em> Kurosaki and even the promise of heavenly condemnation won’t change that. His dreams are nightmares not because bad things happen in them, but because good things do. Asleep is the only time Uryuu can remember without regret and those little tastes of happiness are what chip away at his resolve like nothing else. They make him want to forsake his faith, to throw away everything he believes for just one more kiss.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He raises his head to stare at the ostentatious crucifix mounted on the wall beyond the altar. It is the embodiment of all the reasons he has been struggling against his desires. Uryuu wants to tear it down and smash it to pieces. He wants to rip up his bible and fling the shredded pages onto the rain-soaked lawn. He wants to scream so loud the stained glass shatters alongside his precarious peace of mind. But he does none of these things. Instead, Uryuu slowly stands and moves toward the exit, still carefully holding his middle as if he might crack and crumble apart at the slightest pressure.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The sight of Kurosaki’s door is not merely nostalgic. It stabs into him with a visceral poignancy that steals his strength all over again. Uryuu leans against the wood paneled wall across from it and sinks to the cold tiles with his legs held close. He rests his head on the solid surface behind him, watching the play of shadows in dim light across the upper half of the door. The music of pouring rain and howling wind and rustling leaves should be calming. In a way, it is. Yet, it also reminds him of a particular night in Kurosaki’s room. Nestled naked in his bed, they listened to the storm and talked long after Uryuu should have returned to his own dorm. It was so comforting to lie together in such a tranquil moment and he couldn’t help pretending, just for an instant, that it was all okay—the sex, their relationship, his emotions, everything. The elation he felt then still haunts him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Another sob breaks free, louder than the first, and he hides his face against his knees as his heart throbs fiercely in his throat. Part of him wants to get up and knock on Kurosaki’s door, but he knows he won’t. Uryuu has done this a few times before and he’s never had the courage to do what he really wants. He doesn’t even know what he would say if he ever managed it. What <em>could</em> he say after treating Kurosaki so cruelly? Judging and berating and rejecting him so many times when Uryuu secretly wanted nothing more than to thank him for putting up with a verbally abusive brat utterly incapable of accepting such a major facet of his own personality.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A conveniently timed peal of thunder doesn’t quite cover the soft rattle and click of a door opening. He looks up and freezes as he locks gazes with Kurosaki, shock and confusion mirrored in both of their expressions. Uryuu’s spine straightens and his palms move to prop against the tiles in preparation for a swift getaway. Otherwise, neither one of them moves for several beats. This is the part where he runs, obviously. Kurosaki won’t confront him about it later and he’s unlikely to ever figure out precisely why Uryuu would be sitting outside his room in the middle of the night. The wisest course of action is just to hurry up and <em>leave</em> but he can’t make his body do it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Kurosaki seems to be in a similar state of indecision, mimicking a statue in the frame of his gaping doorway. The blinds on his window are drawn up like he has been watching the weather, too. Diffuse blue light from a nearby mercury lamp lends an appropriately melancholy glow to the scene. The sheets appear to have been twisted and rumpled by an agitated occupant. Uryuu only notices these details because he is trying so hard to avoid the stare fixed on his pathetic form, but his eyes snap back to Kurosaki’s when a tentative step is taken.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Sensing the alarm his advance causes, he pauses uncertainly, then continues when Uryuu doesn’t bolt. Making slow, measured progress Kurosaki moves to kneel in front of him, studying his face all the while. Seconds pass and they still don’t speak. Uryuu is so tense he starts to feel dizzy. He realizes he’s on the verge of hyperventilating and does his best to keep it under control but the way Kurosaki is looking at him makes that very difficult because he doesn’t seem the least bit angry. Why isn’t he angry?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What’s wrong, Ishida?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His gentle tone sends shivers across Uryuu’s skin. He shuts his eyes and sets his jaw against it. Doesn’t change the fact that he dearly missed hearing his name in Kurosaki’s low voice. Not trusting himself to speak, Uryuu shakes his head dismissively but when he opens his eyes Kurosaki is still waiting for some kind of explanation. It’s too late to shrug this intrusion off. Uryuu swallows, licks his lips, and scrounges for a jumble of words to offer as excuse.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I-I just wanted to say…I’ve wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, Kurosaki.” That much is true, although it’s far from the most relevant truth he could choose to share. “I’m sorry f-for all the horrible things I said to you out of spite and fear. You deserved better.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There is something else mixed in with the surprise he shows upon receiving Uryuu’s apology. Something that resembles sadness, or maybe guilt. Whatever it is, it’s making him extremely uncomfortable and he needs to get away from Kurosaki before he has a total breakdown. Uryuu can feel it threatening to rise in the back of his mind like the unnerving, ascending shriek of a boiling tea kettle. At the first sign of motion, Kurosaki twitches and raises a hand but doesn’t touch him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Wait! Don’t go yet. Please.” His eyes bounce between Uryuu’s, searching intently as he asks, “That’s not really why you came here, is it? I heard…I <em>thought</em> I heard you…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He turns away, unwilling to answer Kurosaki’s astute question. So, he overheard Uryuu halt a half-step from bawling like an infant because the thought of never being with Kurosaki again sort of makes him want to curl up and die? And because deep down all Uryuu wants is for Kurosaki to hold him and tell him this feeling doesn’t make him an abomination.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m weak and delusional,” he mutters, imbuing the sentiment with rage directed entirely at himself. “That’s why I’m here.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Bullshit.” It’s barely a whisper, and Uryuu is startled to see his eyes have gone glossy. “You’re one of the strongest, smartest people I’ve ever met.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’m a coward and a hypocrite and you know it! If I weren’t, then we never would have…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Never would’ve what?” Kurosaki cautiously presses. “Never would’ve become involved? Or never would’ve ended it?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The latter option tingles enticingly up the back of Uryuu’s neck. Is Kurosaki hinting that he has forgiven him? Is he really willing to take Uryuu back so readily? His world is shaking apart at the sheer possibility. He clenches fists into the cloth of his sweatpants to keep from reaching for Kurosaki and pulling him close. Lightning flashes, emphasizing the hopeful gleam in brown eyes, and the final frayed tether holding him in check snaps.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Tell me you hate me,” begs Uryuu, so desperately it scares him. “Tell me I was just a toy to you. Tell me it was all a twisted game. Tell me it didn’t mean anything. Tell me you won’t forgive me. Tell me you’ll never want to kiss me again. Tell me—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I’ve always liked you, Ishida.” Just that much knocks the wind out of him but Kurosaki forges onward anyway. “Before we started sleeping together. Even before I kissed you in detention. I think I’ve liked you ever since our first class. Algebra one, remember?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I…You…<em>What</em>?” Uryuu is gaping but he can’t help it. Clearly, he isn’t getting a full sentence out any time soon but he tries, “You l-liked…Then why…?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Why did I give you so much shit for the past two years?” He nods dumbly and Kurosaki huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “Because I’m an idiot and an asshole. You were the hot-but-unapproachable genius and I was too immature to understand you weren’t actually an arrogant dick, you were just <em>shy</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I wasn’t—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You were. You still are. It’s probably the only reason you don’t get weekly confessions ‘cause if everyone else knew you the way I—”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“You don’t know me, Kurosaki. How can you when I don’t even know myself?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“It doesn’t work like that. If I say I know you it’s because I’ve watched you, I’ve thought about you, and I’ve wanted to spend time with you. The more I know, the more I like you. And I <em>really</em> fucking like you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“No, that’s not…”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There isn’t enough air in his lungs to finish the half-hearted contradiction. Uryuu wants to believe it and he doesn’t at the same time. His heart is beating so fast. He glances down the hall and considers sprinting through it. He also considers kissing Kurosaki but that only makes him more lightheaded, more confused.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Following Uryuu’s line of sight, he sighs and somberly says, “If you run, I’m not gonna chase you.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I know that.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Do you know why?” Kurosaki’s stare is so sincere, so full of subtext it makes his chest ache but he forces himself not to flinch away. “I can’t give you what you need, Ishida. I can’t absolve you of the ‘sins’ you believe we’re committing just by feeling the way we do about each other.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu covers his face with his hands and rasps, “<em>I know</em>.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The fingertips that touch his arm are so light he almost doesn’t feel them. He lowers his hands to look at Kurosaki and is struck senseless by the raw yearning in his expression. The fragile waver in his voice is the figurative nail in Uryuu’s coffin. “I’d help you work through it, if you let me. We could figure it out together. We could try. Can’t we just try?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He doesn’t think, he just moves. Straight into Kurosaki’s arms. The first thought that comes to mind is how much this feels like home for him. All of the stress and anxiety melts away, until Uryuu is left with only gratitude and affection. He isn’t sure how to express it but it seems like he should find a way.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Reluctantly withdrawing from the hug, he meets Kurosaki’s eyes to lamely confess, “I like you, too.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A wide smile spreads. “I know.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Uryuu kisses him. His heart is still racing, but for different reasons now. Hope takes the place of despair, especially when Kurosaki leads him into the room and curls up with him under the blanket. He holds on tightly and kisses the back of his neck, right over the clasp of his cross. Uryuu doesn’t reach for it to lend him strength. Instead, he reaches for Kurosaki’s hand and holds it to his chest so he can feel the way Uryuu’s heartbeat slows from the solace of his embrace.</p>
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